


Not Drake but Jill:  Act 3

by teshtani



Series: Not Drake but Jill [5]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: College of Winterhold Questline, Complicated Relationships, Dragonborn DLC, Elder Scrolls Lore, F/M, Growing Canon Divergence, Platonic Relationships, Skyrim Civil War, Theories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2020-01-20 17:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 51,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18530197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teshtani/pseuds/teshtani
Summary: This began as an exploration of Elder Scrolls lore through the eyes, and adventures, of the Last Dragonborn. It got away from me.Act 3: Things are falling apart.  The civil war is heating up, more and more dragons are appearing all the time, and the College of Winterhold is under threat from both within and without.  With the dragonborn forced to split her time between Skyrim and Solstheim her life is quickly spiraling out of control.  It’s a good thing Teldryn is willing to step into the role of responsible adult… most of the time.New Readers: It is not necessary to have read Acts 1 and 2 in order to understand most of what is going on in Act 3 (if you’ve played Skyrim).  But I would suggest you read the “Story So Far” summary (link inside) for a quick recap of what quests have been completed and what “Cannon Divergence” includes.





	1. Apocrypha

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Act 3 has been giving me more trouble than expected, but the first few chapters are done, so I thought I’d start posting them and hope setting a deadline for myself will help.
> 
> For a recap of the Story so Far [(link)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18530671)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexa knows a trap when she’s in one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solstheim, Day 1 (Winter, 4E 202)

“Well, shit,” Alexa muttered, looking at the strange green sky above her and the inky black water, full of giant tentacles, stretching to the horizon on either side of where she stood. Her day, thus far, had already contained a barrow, a dragon priest, a word wall, and now a book that was a portal to – she gave the archway, made of black-bound books, in front of her an apprizing once over – Apocrypha.  Not quite the way she’d envisioned it – Morian Zenas’1 description had been of a maze of shelves not islands made of books – but, yes, this was clearly Apocrypha.  Which meant the chance of contact with yet another of the daedric princes had just increased to near certainty.  She took a step forward.

“So, another seeker after knowledge enters my realm,” a booming voice with the slimy, sucking, undertones of a pool of mud, announced.  “This is Apocrypha, where all knowledge is hoarded.  Sate your thirst for knowledge in the endless stacks.”  Alexa looked up, in the direction of the voice, to see innumerable tentacles and eyes bubbling out of dark splotches in the air.  She tried not to blanch.  She’d always found goat eyes a little disturbing. Disembodied floating goats eyes the size of her head were, honestly, nightmarish.  “If you tire of your search,” the sucking voice continued, “read your book again to return to your world.  For a time.  The lure of Apocrypha will call you back,” the voice chuckled smugly to itself as the daedra faded from the sky.  “It is your fate.”

Alexa squashed the sudden, nearly overwhelming, temptation to prove the Prince of Fate wrong by immediately reading The Winds of Change again, to leave, and never come back.  There were answers she wanted, to the questions of the world, and this place probably had some of them. 

_Damn it_.

She cast invisibility on herself and notched an ebony arrow to Auriel’s bow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 The Doors of Oblivion, by Seif-ij Hidja.


	2. Raven Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solstheim, Day 2 (Winter, 4E 202)

Nine AM.  Teldryn Sero sat in his favorite chair near the cook fire in the Retching Netch.  Truthfully he was bored.  It had been several months since he’d come to Raven Rock after his last patron had committed suicide via bandit camp.  Soon he was going to have to find a new patron or be reduced to standard mercenary work – not a pleasant thought.  Though it was possible that new employment was closer than it seemed.  Gossip had it an adventuresome outlander had come in on the Northern Maiden yesterday and, almost immediately, gotten caught up in the ongoing tiff between Glover Mallory and Crescius Caerellius.  Then she’d disappeared down the closed mine shaft, apparently muttering something about there always being one more hole to get to the bottom of.  That had been a little less than a day ago and the gossips were already proclaiming her dead in a pitfall or eaten by spiders.  A pity really, he would have liked to have at least gotten a look at someone gullible enough to be taken in by Crescius’ wild tales and so foolhardy as to explore a long abandoned mine shaft with just a dog for help.  It would have made for a good story.  And, if she’d survived, she might have realized the usefulness of having someone with her who knew the lay of the land…

The front door of the Retching Netch opened and the outlander, and her _armored_ dog, stepped into the foyer.  She was female, obviously, and too short to be a mer; also too slight to be a Nord or Redguard.  An imperial, he thought, or a Breton.  Hard to tell with her face covered with a strange, rather ugly, bronze mask.  Her armor was light, clearly bespoke, expensive and well used.  Her weapon, a bow, was breath taking but possibly too fancy to be functional.  The assortment of staffs strapped across her pack suggested at least some ability with magic.  Teldryn smiled inside his helmet, his employment opportunity had arrived.

“The best swordsman in all Morrowind at your service... for the right price,” Teldryn greeted her. 

* * *

“I wonder what became of Saint Jiub?” Teldryn remarked, looking around them at the piles of spawn ash.

“Why?  Are you hoping you’ll be sainted for slaying ashspawn?” his new patron – female, mid to late twenties, Breton, Alexa, no last name – enquired.

“I met him once, you know,” Teldryn told her reprovingly.

Alexa chuckled at that. “Careful Sero, you’re showing your age.”

“Oh?  And who’s to say it wasn’t last year that I met him?” he asked archly.

“Unless you’ve been spending time in the Soul Cairn that is extremely unlikely,” she replied, pushing open the door into Fort Frostmoth.

“The Soul Cairn?” Teldryn frowned, following close behind.

“It’s where the souls that fill black soul gems go when they’re used up,” she explained, shooting a rising ashspawn through the chest.

“I know what the Soul Cairn is,” Teldryn told her with slight irritation.  “I’m just interested in why he would be there.”

“He was in Kvatch when it was destroyed,” she told him.  “It seems a dremora soul trapped him before killing him.  Which makes you, if you really did meet him, more than two hundred years old.”

Teldryn pretended to be too busy with the ash spawn to answer.

“So what was the Oblivion Crisis like?” she asked a few minutes later as she picked open the gate to what had probably been the fort quartermaster’s office.

“Terrible.  What’s Saint Jiub like now that he’s dead?” he asked, not really expecting a response.

“Self obsessed,” she answered, rummaging the shelves for anything useful.  “He gave me the first volume of the autobiography he was working on when he died.  If I make it back to Skyrim alive, you can have a copy.”

“You want me to believe you’ve been to the Soul Cairn and come back?” Teldryn drawled.

“Don’t ask,” she told him, as they made their way down into the fort’s old crypt.

“I just did ask.”

“Tell you what, when we’re through here, I’ll tell you all about it over dinner.”

“You’re paying,” he reminded her, as she skimmed through a journal someone had stupidly left behind.

“I’m aware of that, Sero. You are not my first paid travel-buddy.”

“The others let you take them places like the Soul Cairn?” he enquired, going through the backpack on the floor.  He handed her the key he found inside.

“Never came up,” she replied accepting the key and heading back up to the main level.  “At the time I was traveling with a daughter of Coldharbor, not a mercenary.  She was born in the second era, which makes her even older than you.  So, don’t worry, I’m used to elderly traveling companions.”

“And she put up with you, did she?” he grumbled.

“See, now you’re just being a grouchy old man,” she told him, using the key on the tower door.

* * *

“You’re not going to ask me to turn around?” Teldryn enquired as his new patron began to strip her armor in a manner that indicated she was both very used to getting in and out of it and that she was accustomed to a lack of privacy.  They were in her room at The Retching Netch waiting for Drovas to bring them the dinner they’d ordered from Geldis on their return from Fort Frostmoth.

“Would you if I did?” she asked, sounding like she didn’t believe that he would.

“Probably not,” he admitted. 

“Then what’s the point?”

He shrugged to himself. If she wasn’t bothered by close living quarters, why should he be? “Nice tattoos,” he commented, changing the subject.  “I have a few myself.”

“They’re not tattoos,” she told him, finishing pulling on her college robes.

“You’re telling me your skin is naturally patterned with pretty purple flowers?” he asked, humorously, as he removed his helmet.

She settled in the chair across from him.  “They’re mage marks.  You sir, have the honor of traveling with the youngest Grand Master Mage in all of Tamriel.1  Don’t tell the Thalmor, they’ll try to kill us both.”

“Is that right?” he asked skeptically.  

“I’m also dragonborn. But don’t worry, I don’t expect you to believe that either.”

“Then why tell me?”

“So you won’t be mad at me for _not_ telling you when we eventually get attacked by a dragon and I absorb its soul like some weird-ass soul gem.”

He was saved from having to immediately respond to that by a knock on the door.  She went to answer it, relieved Drovas of the tray he was holding, and returned to the table, kicking the door closed behind her.

“You know, most people would have had a bit more lead up to the ‘I eat dragon souls’ revelation,” Teldryn informed her as she arranged their food on the table between them.

“It’s been a tough few months,” she replied with a shrug.  “I figure if I have to roll with the punches you, as my companion, will too.  Best to warn you of what’s coming.  Where, and when, ever possible at least.”

 _Fair enough_ , he thought with a slight mental shrug.  “So what brings the dragonborn to Solstheim? Professional life or personal?”

“Personal, I’m afraid. A man who’s apparently been dead for several thousand years seems to have put a hit out on me.”

“Come again?”

“Welcome to my life, Sero. If you want to chicken out, I’ll understand, but I’ll be wanting my money back.”

“And give up the chance to travel with the fabled dragonborn?” he laughed.  “Parish the thought.  I’m just confused as to how a dead man can hire people to kill you.”

“Cultists.  It’s the _why_ , not the how, that I’m here to find out about,” she clarified, just as there was a considerably more forceful knock on the door.

“Come in!” Alexa called, clearly not wanting to get up again.

The door opened to reveal one of the town’s more industrious busybodies.  Teldryn sighed.

“Captain Veleth,” Alexa greeted the man.  “Is there something I can do for you?”

“I heard you were back. What news from Fort Frostmoth?”

Alexa tossed him the journal they’d found.  “The General shouldn’t be a problem any more Captain.  Don’t know about the necromancer that raised him though. That’s some pretty high level experimentation…  Anybody in town piss off a necromancer lately?”

“Anything’s possible, I suppose,” the captain answered noncommittally.  “The only one around here who might know about that sort of thing though is that crazed Telvanni wizard over on the South Eastern coast.” He paused, glancing down at the journal in his hands.  “It’s a shame about General Carius.  There are quite a few tales of his exploits, including the founding of Raven Rock...”  

“Bit of a hero of yours?” Alexa asked with a soft smile.

The Captain gave her a wry smile in return.  “Anyway, Councilor Morvayn told me to give this to you if you made it back in one piece... and you got rid of General Carius.”  He handed Alexa a rather large purse as he returned the journal.  “Also, Second Councilor Arano would like a word with you as soon as possible.  It’s important.  Possibly more so than wiping out the ash spawn.  He’s waiting on the western road just out of town.”

Alexa sighed at her half eaten bowl of stew.  “Right, I’ll go see him once I’ve finished eating.”

Veleth nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

“Plot thickens,” Teldryn smirked.

“I’m never going to make it to that temple at this rate,” his new employer muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 A narrative way of indicating Restoration 100 with all perks. See “Story So Far” for fuller explanation.


	3. Served Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexa kills a dragon and gets a house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solstheim, Day 3 (Winter, 4E 202)

They ended up spending most of the night in the back room of the Ulen Ancestral Tomb.  Teldryn dozed lightly while his patron seemed to simply enter a meditative state.  It was a little creepy how she sat there, perfectly still, eyes half closed, barely even breathing.  He tried not to think about it as he drifted in and out.

A little after midnight a hand nudged him awake, a finger pressed to his lips.  Someone had entered the tomb.  He leaned around the pillar he’d propped himself against to see who it was. He looked back to Alexa and nodded once in answer to the questioning look on her face.  He recognized the person paying their observances. 

Once Tilisu had gone, they made their way back to the Retching Netch only to discover that Alexa’s dog, Meeko, had taken her bed while they’d been gone.  So his patron opted for meditation in the taproom, over sleep, even waking him twice when he wandered past her on his way to join the workers at one of the stones.  He felt a surprising amount of gratitude for that.

The next morning they reported their findings to the Second Councilor.

The resigned look on Alexa’s face, when asked to “obtain hard evidence” was nearly comical.  “You any good at sneaking?” she asked him.

“Do I look like a thief to you?” he replied.

She sighed.  “Fine, you stay here and keep an eye on Meeko. I’ll be right back.”  She charged two spells releasing first one and then the other and disappeared right in front of him.

“Impressive,” he murmured but she was either already gone or chose not to answer.  Well, one thing was for certain, there was no doubting his new patron was a skilled mage. 

Teldryn eyed Meeko. Dogs were not common in Morrowind and, frankly, his time in Skyrim hadn’t fully won him over to the idea of keeping them as pets.  This one, however, had handled himself surprisingly well against the ashspawn the previous day.  Then again, maybe not so surprising, give the enchanted dog armor he was wearing. Meeko whined and presented the bridge of his nose for scratching.  Teldryn sighed and complied.

Alexa was away a total of fifteen minutes before she reappeared in front of him as suddenly as she had disappeared.  “You find evidence?” Teldryn asked, careful not to sound too impressed.  He’d never studied Illusion magic but knew invisibility took quite a bit of skill to cast.

“I did,” she answered simply.

What followed was the wholesale slaughter of more than a dozen members of the Morag Tong.  Poor bastards didn’t even see them coming.  By the end he was actually beginning to wonder why she felt the need for a traveling companion at all.

“It’s good to have someone capable at my back,” she said glancing up at him, as they worked their way back through Ashfallow Citadel, looting the place as they went.  He could hear the smile in her voice even if he couldn’t see any expression through the strange mask she wore.

“I too am glad to be working with someone who seems competent,” he replied.  “My last patron was killed trying to tackle an entire fort of bandits alone.”

“So these were Morag Tong?” she asked, inspecting the distinctive lightweight armor.

“Not impressed?” he inquired.  Certainly _he_ wasn’t particularly impressed given that one stealthy mage with a bow had taken out so many of them almost single-handed.

“I don’t think assassins are used to being prey,” Alexa commented, conversationally.  “In my experience they don’t take the reversal well.”

“You have experience hunting assassins?”

She shrugged slightly. “I wiped out the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary in Skyrim a few years back.”

That caught him by surprise. “Did you now?  That must be an interesting story.”

“Not really.  They were hired to kill me, I killed them first.”

“And how did you manage that?” Teldryn asked patiently.  Sometimes talking to her, he was discovering, was a little maddening.

“I got tired of picking them off one at a time.  Heard the only way to get out of a Dark Brotherhood contract was to join them. So I fulfilled one of their contracts that absolutely everyone knew about.  Figured after that kind of insult they’d either send someone competent to kill me or they’d send a recruiter.  They sent a recruiter.  I killed the recruiter, took her stuff, and found myself in a unique position to collect a _substantial_ Imperial bounty. A few days later I collected the bounty and went back to living my life with one fewer death marks on my head.”

“You think you destroyed them for good?” Teldryn asked, holding the tower door open for her.

“Nah.  The Dark Brotherhood is a cult of Sithis.  If the Dread Father wants to be worshiped he will be. Not a lot to be done about that. I just got rid of the ones who knew about the contract on my life.  Hopefully that’s enough.”  She patted her dog – whom she’d left outside on account of him being “as sneaky as a cave bear” – on the head.

“So you believe all that rot about them and Sithis?” he asked.  “Sounds a bit fishy to me.”

“I’m a dragon in a human body.  I’m afraid my crazy meter is somewhat drowned out by local signal.”

Teldryn laughed at that. He hadn’t yet heard her shout – or seen her do anything dragon-y – but he liked her well enough, so far, that he didn’t see much purpose in questioning, or demanding proof of, her strange assertions.

She stopped on the stairs, looking down on the bodies of the two Redoran guards.  “Pity about the guards.  Not like Raven Rock has that many to spare.”

They began the walk back to town.  “Your last patron was killed by bandits?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.

“My last patron was a true Nord.  He was dressed in animal skins, had tattoos on his face... a real traditional type, if you know what I mean.”

That caused a snicker. “What?” he asked her.

“ _A true Nord, dressed in skins with tattoos on his face_ ,” she mimicked before dropping back into her own voice, “says the Dunmer dressed in chitin armor with tattoos on his face.”

“Did you want to hear the story or not?” he asked in the tone of a man dealing with an impertinent child.

“No-no, please continue,” she returned, still chuckling lightly.

“He had an insatiable bloodlust and was extremely stubborn... one of the toughest employers I’ve ever had.  But he paid well.   _Very well_.”  His meaningful look was lost behind his helmet but he thought, from the slight tilt to her head, that she’d gotten the point anyway so he continued.  “We’d just cleared a ruined fort somewhere outside of Whiterun and, when we got outside, we saw one of them galloping away on horseback.  Well, my boss wasn’t about to let him get away, so we pursued... on foot, for three days.”

That caused some more snickering.  It was beginning to occur to Teldryn his new patron had an over active sense of humor.

“Until we ended up tracking him to one of the largest bandit encampments I’d ever seen.  My patron took one look at me, and made the most menacing grin...  At that moment, I knew I’d never see him again.  No amount of money would ever be worth that kind of death.”

“Glad to know you have limits, Sero,” she told him primly.

“So what did you do to end up a target of the Dark Brotherhood?” he asked.

“I translated a journal.”

“Aaand?” he prodded whens she failed to elaborate.

“The journal, it turned out, had belonged to the previous head of the Riften thieves’ guild.  In it he’d outlined his suspicion that one of his lieutenants was not only stealing from the Guild but had taken an artifact from a temple of Nocturnal and that the Guild’s worsening circumstances were the result of the daedra’s displeasure. 

“At the time I translated said journal the lieutenant in question had become the Guild master after the ‘tragic’ murder of his predecessor.  I think you can guess how it went from there.”

“I can, but why didn’t he just kill you himself?”

“Because, when he realized the danger he was in, he didn’t know exactly where I was and he wanted to make sure I never made it back to Riften.”

Teldryn nodded.  “And the Dark Brotherhood were supposed to be as good as couriers at finding people.”

“Exactly.”

* * *

They returned to Raven Rock just as the dragon attacked.  Teldryn was startled to hear his patron groan – as if the arrival of a dragon on scene was an annoying imposition rather than an utter disaster – as she dropped her pack and unhooked the staff shaped like a bright red rose. “Frost dragon,” she told him. “Use fire spells or physical damage. It’s got a lot of health and armor so aim for the wings to get it on the ground.  Stay away from its head.  A dragon’s bite attack will snap even the heaviest armor in half.”  She fired her staff at the ground, summoning a dremora, before casting a mage-armor spell and shifting back to her bow. 

The dremora took one look at the dragon, grinned at his summoner, and charged.  The dragon seemed to smirk as it turned to shout frost at them but Teldryn’s patron merely shouted the dragon’s attack it back into its face.  The dragon coughed and took flight coming to land on the bulwark behind them.

“Dovahkiin.  You have come as lord Miraak said you would.  Die now so that your power may hasten his return!”

“Zu’u ni hin krii!1” Alexa retorted.  “That honor belongs to Alduin alone!  KRII-LUN-AUS!”

Even with the help of the dragonborn it took the Redoran guard nearly twenty minutes to down the dragon. By the end Teldryn was fully ready to attest that the woman was Tamriel’s greatest healer.  Without her mass healing spells he was certain more than half the guard would have been dead in the first few minutes. 

Teldryn didn’t catch what the dragon said to her in its final moments but whatever it was caused the little Breton to snarl angrily before shooting the downed dragon a final time.

A moment later the dragon’s body began to burn from the inside, its scaly hide flaking away, as Alexa was engulfed in a storm of raw energy.  And then it was over and all that was left was a dragon’s lifeless skeleton.

“Asshole,” she muttered turning and walking away like nothing exciting, much less _earth shattering_ , had just happened.  The guards stood there staring at the skeleton like they were half afraid it would spring back to life at any moment.

“Come on Sero, we have to make our report to the Second Councilor,” she called back to him over her shoulder.

“You know, after that display, I think they’re going to need to find a more substantial reward then just a few septims, Dragonborn,” he noted casually as he followed her.

“As long as I get a bath sometime this evening, I’m happy.”

* * *

That evening he helped her move her things from The Retching Netch to Severin Manor and was more than a little surprised when she handed him the spare key.  “As I see it you’re due a cut of the spoils,” she told him.  “This house is part of the spoils so the second room is yours if you want it.”

“That’s very generous of you,” he noted, frowning at her.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Do you have a house?”

“No.”  He’d been living at the Retching Netch since coming to Raven Rock.

“Do you see me being able to sell this place, in a timely manner, even with the mine reopened?”

“No.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea, given everything you’ve seen, for me to live alone?”

“Definitely not.”

“Are you a terrible housemate who leaves his socks in the kitchen?”

That made him chuckle. “No.”

“Good.  Lets go get your things.”

“I don’t sleep with my patrons,” he told her as she turned to head back to the Netch for his stuff.

She looked back over her shoulder at him.  “I’m married.”

That stopped him.  He certainly hadn’t seen that coming. “Where’s your husband?”

“He’s not really the adventuring type,” she replied.

“But, uh…” Teldryn gestured to the house around him.

“I’ll let him know. Whether he makes the trip or not will be up to him.  If he does, he’ll stay in my room anyway, so it’s not a big deal, right?”

“Most men don’t take kindly to other men living with their wives,” he pointed out.

“He’s not like most men,” she assured him.

That night Teldryn fell asleep, in his new room, wondering why the fact she had a husband who didn’t travel with her bothered him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 I am not yours to kill!


	4. Neloth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grand Masters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solstheim, Day 4 (Winter, 4E 202)

“Teldryn can you hear me? Teldryn, wake up!” the voice was familiar and insistent.

“What?  Is there a problem?” he gasped awake and found himself on his back and out of doors.  He looked around him.  The moons still rode high in the sky and, not too far away, he could see the outline of Tel Mithryn against a glowing green skyline.  The strange weight on his chest turned out to be Meeko who immediately set about licking the eye lenses on his helmet.

“Oh, thank the Divines, for a moment there I thought I’d lost you,” Alexa smiled down at him.

“By Dagon’s eyes, how did we end up _here_?” he asked her shoving her dog off him and sitting up.

“I don’t really know,” she replied looking around them.  “I must have finally fallen asleep.”

Teldryn decided not to think about the fact she’d just admitted to going three days without sleep.  At least, he noted, they both seemed to have gotten dressed before sleepwalking to the other side of the island.

“That’s the Telvanni wizard’s place over there, right?” she asked, pointing south.  “Lets go see if he’s figured out what’s going on yet.”

“You know all Telvanni are certifiably insane, right?” Teldryn warned her as they started off. 

* * *

“The Telvanni are amazing,” he confided, as they entered the giant mushroom grove surrounding the tower, a few minutes later.  “Look what they’ve grown from the ash... have you ever seen anything like it?” he turned slowly around several times trying to take it all in.

“I have to admit, houses grown from giant mushrooms is a new one for me,” Alexa laughed.  “I thought you said the Telvanni were all crazy?”

“Insanity does not preclude genius,” he told her sternly.  “And you should be careful, you’re sounding awfully jaded for one so young.”

* * *

“You again.  Didn’t I see you in Raven Rock?” the imperious Dunmer demanded, after a swift glance over his shoulder to see who had entered.

“You did,” Alexa acknowledged looking around her.  “Where is everyone?”

“They are off working on their pillar,” the wizard replied without concern.  “Happens every night.”

“Can’t you make them stop?” Alexa asked.

“Make them stop?  Oh no, certainly not.  At least not yet…  Not until I’ve figured out what is going on.  Imagine the power of being able to command entire villages to do your bidding,” Neloth replied, apparently too engrossed in whatever he was doing to give his visitors his full attention.  “Imagine what _I_ could do with that power,” he added to himself.

“You must be a very powerful wizard already,” Alexa noted. 

“I am likely the greatest wizard you will ever meet,” Neloth sniffed.

At that Alexa sighed and removed a gauntlet.  The tinkling sound of a healing spell seemed to actually catch Neloth’s attention.  He turned to face them for the first time. His eyes narrowed as he watched petals swirl across Alexa’s arm.  “So you’re the one, eh?  I had heard you were rather young.”

Alexa snuffed the spell and just stared a hole in his forehead.

Neloth grimaced, pushed up his sleeve, and began a fire enchantment.  The deep red key patters of Julianos began flowing across his skin. “Happy now?” he demanded imperiously.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Grand Master,” Alexa replied with a very slight bow.

“Of course it is,” Neloth snorted.  “Was there something you needed or are you merely here to gawp?”

“I came to ask if you’d figured out what’s happening to all those people yet.”

“No, but I have my theories.”

“I was thinking that whatever happens it takes control when they’re sleeping,” she offered.

“That much is obvious,” Neloth drawled.

“I also think the weaker willed ones have greater trouble waking back up,” Alexa continued patiently.

“Entirely possible. What of it?”

“Well, I was wondering if the effect might be akin to the Dreamweaver’s ability to steal memories and replace them with nightmares.  Only, instead of replacing a memory with a dream, this replaces a dream with that mantra, and the mantra somehow connects the sleeping mind to the will of the caster until the sleeper wakes.  It is, of course, like the Dreamweaver’s ability, cumulative until, eventually, even the strongest willed can no longer wake.”

“That is… surprisingly astute of you.  I don’t suppose you know _how_ the Dreamweaver achieves that effect, do you?”

“No, and I’m afraid the Skull of Corruption is currently out of reach.”

“Destroyed it did you?”

“Not personally.  But I was there.”

“Pity… there might have been something to learn from it.”

“That thing gave me a headache just looking at it,” Alexa mutter to herself.

“Are we done?” Neloth demanded imperiously.

“Unless you have some advice for me,” she answered.

“Big temple, center of the island, you can’t miss it.”

“Anything I can get for you while I’m out exploring the center of the island?” she asked dryly.

“Hmm.  I do have a new spell I’m working on.  I hope to be able to conjure ash spawn.  If I could get a sample of ash from an ash spawn, that would be quite useful.  I’ve made this special tool that will extract... well, you don’t need to know the details.”  He grabbed the extractor off the table it was lying on and handed it to Alexa.  “Just go harvest a sample.  Of course, the creature will have to be dead first, but I trust that’s something you can... bring about.”

* * *

“And that is why all the Telvanni live on Vvardenfell,” Teldryn told Alexa as they exited Tel Mithryn. “So that nobody else has to put up with them.”

She laughed at that and tossed him the extractor.  “This sounds like a job for Saint Teldryn, eradicator of ash spawn!”

“I’m beginning to think you’re a terrible person,” he mused, pocketing the strange device.

“There’s a Thalmor Justiciar in Markarth who tells me that fairly regularly,” she acknowledged.

“Is there now?  I thought you had to avoid contact with the Thalmor.”

“I have to avoid the local Thalmor learning what I am.  It’s not necessarily the same thing,” she replied, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

“There’s a story there,” he told her.

“Isn’t there always?” she asked softly.


	5. Miraak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Last Dragonborn has some thoughts on the First Dragonborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solstheim, Day 4 (Winter, 4E 202)

The Temple of Miraak had started off unpleasantly creepy – what with all the enthralled people working outside – and had devolved steadily into downright disturbing the deeper they’d gone.  Frea, the rather terse, and very Nordic, Skaal they had picked up, haranguing her people near the Tree Stone, hadn’t made things any better with her ongoing commentary on the legendary horrors of Miraak and his Dragon Cult.  Their perturbing journey culminated in a room the focal point of which was a single book on a lectern.

Alexa stopped short the moment she entered the room, and gave the black book an odd, measuring, look. “Something wrong?” Teldryn asked her.

“This book... It seems wrong, somehow,” Frea announced before Alexa could answer.  “Here, yet... not.  It may be what we seek.”

“I think I know what happened to Miraak…” Alexa said, her voice unusually harsh.

“You do?” Frea demanded. “You must tell me!”

“Hermaeus Mora happened to him,” Alexa replied, pointing at the book.  “Those things are portals, of a sort, to Apocrypha.”

“Hmm…” Frea frowned in consideration.  “When Miraak sought to turn against the dragons he must have asked Herma-Mora for aid. But where is he now?  If this book was his connection to Herma-Mora why has it been left here?”

“I don’t know…” Alexa sighed with a tired slumping of her shoulders.  

“If this is like the book that madman we ran into, from White Ridge Barrow, was talking about then there are more of them on the island,” Teldryn pointed out.  “They might have nothing to do with Miraak at all.”

“If it has nothing to do with Miraak then what is it doing in his temple?” Frea scoffed.

“I suppose it is possible Miraak didn’t leave it here,” Alexa murmured thoughtfully.  “It has had several thousand years to find its way here… and daedric artifacts aren’t known for staying where you put them.”

“Find its way here?” Frea echoed, incredulously.  “Why? What purpose does placing it here serve? No one else has come this far since Miraak himself!”

Alexa walked slowly around the lectern her eyes never leaving the book.  “I think it’s an invitation,” she whispered.

“An invitation to _what_?” Teldryn asked skeptically. “Madness?  The madman who accosted us on our way here seemed like something of a cautionary tale to me.”

Alexa glanced up, meeting his eyes, and then suddenly smiled.  “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“If you touch that thing I certainly will,” he replied.

Alexa circled the lectern a second time and then stepped up to the book.  “Alright, Prince of Fate,” she announced.  “I’ll play your game, just like you always knew I would.”  She flipped open the book.  The book grew tentacles that wrapped themselves around her and Alexa became partially transparent.

Teldryn had never lost a patron to a book before and was damned if that was how this was going to go. He took a step forward to snag the book from Alexa’s hands only to find Frea in his way.

“I would not touch her,” Frea cautioned.  “Dark magic fills this place.”

Teldryn rolled his eyes at Frea from behind his helmet.  The dark magic had been obvious since _well_ before they’d even come to the temple.  This though… was something else.  Still, she was probably right.

It was not long before there was a loud gasp and Alexa returned to being fully visible.  “Mother fucker,” she hissed, slamming the book shut and turning to address the two of them.  “That asshole can ride dragons!”

Teldryn crossed his arms in what he hoped was a nonchalant and unconcerned manner.  “Mother fucker?” he drawled.

“Miraak,” she snapped. “On a dragon!  He can _control_ them!”

“Miraak?” Frea demanded, taking Alexa by the shoulders.  “Where? Where is he?  Can we reach him?  Can we kill him?”

“Like I said, he’s in Apocrypha,” Alexa told her, pulling away.  “The book transported me to where he was… sort of.  I mean, my body was still here, but it was also _there_.  As to killing him, I certainly hope we can, but I don’t know how we’d do it.  Being injured while reading one of these books simply throws you back out of it.  But he’s _fully_ in Apocrypha.  Not in-between like I was.  I… have no idea what any of that means in relation to ending Miraak or his control over your people.”

Frea looked at the Black Book on the lectern.  “This is a dangerous thing then.  We should return to my village and show this to my father.  Perhaps Storn can make sense of what is going on.”  Clearly unwilling to touch it she gave Alexa a meaningful look.

Alexa picked up the book and put it in her pack.

Teldryn sighed.  “The way out is over there,” he offered helpfully.

* * *

“You see that green light?” Frea asked, stopping just outside the Temple’s hidden entrance.  “That comes from the Wind Stone, where my people work against their will.”

“Not against their will,” Alexa corrected softy.  “This is no simple compulsion that leaves the affected aware that they have been deprived of choice.  _They_ have no awareness of what they are doing much less the self determination to decide whether or not they wish to do it.”

“Then it is worse than we believed,” the Skaal woman stated.  “We must hurry.  My village is just ahead.”

* * *

“Father!  I have returned!” Frea called out as the passed through the barrier around the village. “There is yet hope!”

“Frea!” the oldest member of the circle responded as they drew close.  “What news do you bring?  Is there a way to free our people?”

“No, but I have brought someone who has seen things...  She has confirmed that Miraak is the one behind the suffering of our people.”

“I feared that it would be so,” he answered in a resigned tone.

“But how is that possible? After all this time...” she asked, kneeling beside him as if to join the circle.

“I fear there is much we do not yet know,” he told her, patting her shoulder gently.

Frea looked towards Alexa. “Please, tell Storn what has happened,” she half commanded half pleaded.

The old man turned to acknowledge the two strangers standing behind his daughter.  “So, you have seen things, yes?”

“Yes,” Alexa answered simply.

He nodded.  “My magic grows weak, and so does the barrier around our village.  Time is short.  Tell me what you know.”

“I read a book in Miraak’s temple and found myself in Apocrypha,” Alexa answered succinctly.  “Miraak was there.”

“Legends speak of that place,” the old man nodded, speaking as though the temple was at an unimaginable distance from their current location, rather than just over the next hill.  “Terrible battles fought at the temple – the dragons burning it to the ground in rage.  They speak also of something worse than dragons buried within.  Difficult to imagine, but if true...  It means what I feared has come to pass.  Miraak was never truly gone, and now has returned.” He met Alexa’s eyes for the first time.  “If you could go to this place and see him...  Are you like Miraak?  Are you Dragonborn?

“Yes,” Alexa replied, simply.  “He was the first and I may be the last.”

The old man’s brows arched in surprise.  “Then perhaps you are connected with him.”

“But what does that _mean_?” Frea demanded of her father.

“I am uncertain,” he answered her before addressing Alexa again.  “It may mean that you could save us, or it may mean that you could bring about our destruction.”  He paused, his brow furrowed thoughtfully for a moment, before shaking his head once – as if to clear it – and continuing on. “But our time is running out.  The few of us left free of control cannot protect ourselves for much longer…  You must go to Saering’s Watch.  Learn there the Word Miraak learned long ago, and use that knowledge on the Wind Stone.  You may be able to break the hold on our people there, and free them from control.”

“Saering’s Watch?” Alexa asked.

“An ancient Nord structure from the time of the dragons.  Follow the river, up stream, and then take the pass to the north.  You will see it to the west of the track that leads to the northern coast.”

Alexa nodded, turning to go. 

“No,” Teldryn interjected, grabbing her by the arm.  “Do you think I have not noticed that you have not really slept in four days?” he asked when she looked back at him.  “We need to eat and sleep before we go on.”

“Four days?” Frea gasped.

Storn nodded.  “The barrier will hold long enough for you to get some sleep, Dragonborn.  There is food in the Great Hall behind us and I believe Fanari would not object to you using her bed.  Go and sleep child,” he added when he saw her hesitate.  “Miraak’s magic will not bother you as long as our barrier stands.”

“It’s not Miraak that worries me,” Teldryn heard her murmur as she opened the door into the Great Hall.

He waited until the door was closed behind them.  “So, if it is not Miraak that has been causing you to choose meditation over sleep, what is?”

“Oh it was definitely Miraak that was causing me to choose to meditate but the first dragonborn isn’t the only problem I have sleeping these days,” she answered, dropping her pack by the fire and pulling out a bearskin for Meeko to sleep on.

“Explain.”

“When I absorb a dragon’s soul I gain their memories,” she told him, beginning to work on removing Meeko’s armor.  “In my dreams I relive the memories until it is hard – sometimes – to remember that I was not there, I was not part of...” she swallowed and then waved the rest of the sentence away.  “Storn and Frea do not know half of what the Dragon Cult was capable of at its height.”

He nodded, dishing some of the stew, in the pot over the fire, into a bowl.  “I’m a fairly light sleeper, when not being mind controlled. We’ll share the bed.  That way I can wake you if it becomes necessary.”

The corner of her mouth twitched in a slight smile as she accepted the bowl of stew he was holding out to her.  “I don’t sleep with people I’m paying,” she told him.

“You’re married,” he replied, smiling in return.


	6. Fate of the Skaal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teldryn learns some things about the Last Dragonborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solstheim, Day 5 (Winter, 4E 202)

When Alexa woke she’d gotten almost a full five hours of uninterrupted sleep.  It was somewhat surprising to discover how much not sleeping alone could lessen the intensity of her nightmares.  Stranger still, she realized, as she slipped out of bed, how liberating being out of the Empire – and away from the constant presence of the Thalmor – was turning out to be.  For the first time, in as long as she could remember, there was someone in her life she had no intention of lying to, or purposefully misleading, not just because doing so would be doing him a disservice but because she could think of no real reason to do so.  If things with Teldryn went bad, or turned awkward, it would not affect her purpose for being here or threaten her ability to live as part of some larger group.

Down on the main floor of the hall Alexa added wood to the fire, and water, butter, and milk to the footed kettle standing in the embers and then put on her armor – a process that kept her busy until the mixture in the kettle was warm enough to add the grain for porridge.  Alexa then sat herself on the bench beside the fire and pulled out a Black Book. She had a theory, regarding the ability of the dragon tongue to shape reality, and, with any luck, testing it wouldn’t take her more than the few minutes the porridge would take to cook.

* * *

Teldryn stretched carefully. The give of the mattress and the slide of furs indicated he was not alone.  He stretched out a hand to where a sleeping dragonborn should have been and found… more fur.  Meeko grumbled and pretended to still be asleep.  Except for his tail which began to loudly thump the mattress.

Teldryn grimaced slightly as he struggle, stiffly, out of bed.  The previous day had been long and he was not as young as he used to be.  At least he hadn’t been forced to sleep on the ground, or in his armor, as he had been dreading might be the case.  That was something.

The dragonborn, he observed, was busy having her head wrapped in ghostly tentacles again.  He didn’t approve, not that his approval mattered. But, after getting his armor on and descending to the first floor, he discovered there was fresh porridge in the pot standing in the fire and hot water for tea.  He made tea, spooned some cereal into a bowl, and then settled across from Alexa to wait.  The porridge had been spiced with an array of herbs not commonly available on Solstheim and was surprisingly good.  Meeko, who had followed Teldryn down the stairs, put his head on Teldryn’s knee and stared up at him imploringly.  Teldryn grimaced at him and dished up another bowl.

About a minute later Alexa closed the Black Book with a snap.  As she did so a bunch of books and papers appeared in her arms.1 “Sleep well?” she asked, the books and papers falling from her arms to the floor.

“Did you sleep at all?” he enquired.

“A few hours…  Until the dragon memories grew too loud.  No full-blow nightmares though.  So, thanks.”

He nodded, unsurprised. The sleeping potion she’d taken would only have lasted a few hours.  “So you decided to do some light planes walking?” he asked.

“I had questions I needed concrete answers to.  I thought Apocrypha might have them in a more tangible form than dragon memory,” she picked the papers up off the floor, smoothing them out and folding them carefully before filing them away inside one of the books before putting everything in her pack.

“I take it that it did?” he noted.

“We’ll see.  I haven’t read any of it yet.  Still, Mora is quite pleased with my grasp of the obvious.” She sighed and dished up some food for herself.

“So you’re not worried by the madness thing?” he asked, as she ate with smooth efficiency.

“I figure that, if I were going to go mad, the tea party with Sheogorath would have done it,” she answered, putting her mostly empty bowl down for Meeko to clean.

“Tea party?” he enquired, archly, almost afraid to know the answer.

“That _is_ the Wabbajack strapped to my pack,” she pointed out mildly.

“Along with the Sanguine Rose,” he observed, taking her bowl from Meeko, and rinsing the dishes in the bucket of water beside the fire.  “I had noticed.”

“I left Dawnbreaker and the Ring of Hircine with friends in Whiterun, the Ebony Blade at the College of Winterhold, and Azura’s star is at the bottom of my pack somewhere…” she continued, drying the dishes as he handed them to her.

“You, young lady, are far too blasé about contact with daedric princes,” he remarked, dryly.

“I don’t think my being in a near constant panic over their attentions would do anyone any good,” she told him.  “Since that’s the only other logical reaction to my situation, I have chosen fatalism.”

“What about your bow?” he asked, as they donned their packs.  “You get that from a daedra too?”

“It’s a family heirloom of sorts… and the only proof I’ve got that the father of my soul cares about what happens to me.  I’m told he once used it to shoot Lorkahn’s heart into the sea.”

Teldryn was silent for a moment as they stepped out into the snow.

“Septim for your thoughts?” she asked.

“Just wondering what a guy has to do to get on your Saturalia gift list.”

“Making sure I live that long would be a good start,” she smiled.  “And traveling companions do, usually, get first consideration when it comes to interesting finds.”

He smiled at her from behind his helmet.  “Shall we go find something interesting then?”

* * *

“You’re attending the College of Winterhold, right?” Teldryn asked as they made their way up the steep hill on the far side of the ravine from the Skaal village.

“I am…” she answered, clearly unsure of where this was going.  “Though I think we can both agree that my truancy rate is appalling.”

“Is Thalmor advisor Ancano, from the erotic adventures series, a real person?”2

She stopped and turned to gape at him.  “Those things are selling _out here_?”

“Quite well,” he confirmed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were also selling well in Summerset.”

“Wow.  It seems J’zargo has found his true calling,” she murmured.  “And yes, to answer your question, Ancano really is the name of the Thalmor advisor to the college.”

Teldryn chuckled.  “I bet he’s none too pleased with his new found notoriety.”

“He is a rather earnest fellow,” she agreed.

“I’m surprised the Thalmor haven’t discouraged the series’ publication,” he offered after a little more climbing.

“They might have, if the advisor were not so universally disliked,” she answered.

“Wait, are you suggesting that the publication of the series is an internal hatchet job?” he demanded, floored.

She paused again, looking back over her shoulder.  “I think I’m suggesting that, even if the first one was published simply in fun, opportunists have likely taken advantage by now.  Thalmor internal politics seem to be as underhanded, and dangerous, as the rest of their endeavors.”

* * *

That night, having cleansed the Wind Stone, they slept in the Skaal village’s Great Hall again. This time, however, not in the bed, in the loft, but in a pile of extra furs, collected from all over the village, under the stairs.  The dragonborn had balked at the idea of taking the bed of someone there to claim it; especially on what should prove to be their first night of uninterrupted sleep in several months. 

Still, to Teldryn’s way of thinking, it was _they_ , and not the Skaal, that had killed not one but _two_ dragons that day.  The first at Saering’s Watch – whose soul had been absorbed by a rude apparition in black robes and disturbing mask – and the second down on the coast after the dragonborn had revealed to Storn that she required either a dragon’s knowledge – or a week of uninterrupted meditation – to use the word she’d just learned.

 _He_ was comfortable enough but Alexa was, rather obviously as she remained fully dressed in her scholar’s robes and curled tightly in on herself, too cold.  After about ten minutes of thinking nasty thoughts about dragonborn who let being kind, and almost unnaturally thoughtful, stand in the way of good judgment he turned over and pulled her against him.

“So, that was Miraak?” he asked, conversationally, over the gentle snoring of the historian and the village chieftain.

“Yeah.”

“He seems like a _nice_ fellow,” Teldryn noted sarcastically.

She fidgeted slightly but remained silent.

“On the bright side you didn’t have to absorb the dragon’s soul,” he added.  “Only one set of new memories to contend with tonight.”

“There is that,” she half laughed, but he heard a note of tears in her voice.

“You want to talk about what’s bothering you?” he asked after another moment of silence.

“I… don’t understand. Everything I’ve read about Tiber Septim. Everything I’ve seen about Miraak… Every dragon I’ve killed…  Behind the charisma they’re _horrible_ people.  If I am a dragon, as they are… would I even know?”

“You are wondering if you are a horrible person?” he asked, a little surprised.

Again she didn’t answer.

“Maybe it’s something you have to work up to,” he suggested, amusement coloring his voice.  “They’ve all been at it a hell of a lot longer than you.”  That didn’t seem to help. 

“You called me a terrible person just yesterday,” she reminded him.  “I know you were joking but I can’t help wondering if you didn’t mean it just a little bit.”

He sighed softly.  The insecurities of children could be so _trying_.  “Not even a little,” he reassured her.  “If it makes you feel any better, based purely on only our brief interaction today, I wouldn’t willingly work for Miraak, and I certainly wouldn’t share a pile of furs with him or ask about what was keeping him awake at night.  The worst thing about you, besides your blasé attitude towards insane situations, is a deplorable sense of humor,” he told her. “Oh, and a distinct lack of respect for your elders.”

“Is there an elder around here I’m supposed to respect?” she asked.  “If you think I’ve been rude to Storn then I will apologize to him first thing in the morning.”

“Me, s’wit.  I was talking about me,” Teldryn grumbled at her.

“Well, in that case, please consider how _extremely_ forthcoming I have been with you, old man.”

“That’s true,” he allowed, slightly puzzled.  “Are you not usually so open with the people you hire?”

“Haven’t always had _quite_ as much to be open about,” she pointed out. “But no.  I mostly don’t tell people about being a Grand Master, the issues I have with the Thalmor, or exactly how many daedric princes I’ve had dealings with…”

“That seems reasonable. I doubt most would believe you,” he commented, in another attempt to sound comforting.

“It still resulted in years of lying to everyone I know,” she responded, her tone oddly flat.

“So what’s changed?” he asked, actually curious.

“With all the dragon’s around being dragonborn has been impossible to hide.  Combine that with an order I found on the body of a Thalmor Wizard a month ago and it seems hiding is no longer an option.  So… no reason to lie anymore, I guess.”

Teldryn considered that for a moment.  “Is there more to your current worry than just being confronted with your jackass older brother today?” he asked.

She went back to silent fidgeting for a bit.  He waited her out.

“My last relationship ended when I woke up, after a run in with Sanguine, to find myself married. Then, barely two days later, I learned that I’m dragonborn and…” she sighed.  “My lover at the time didn’t take it well and said some rather unkind things about ‘manipulative behavior’ and whether I was actually capable of caring about people.  Most of our friends… took his side.  The thing is, I had been clear with Vilkas from the beginning that there was never any possibility of long term commitment between us.  That one day it would become necessary for me to leave and, when that day came, he would not be invited to come with me.”

“But he was young enough, and self-centered enough, to believe that, given time, he could convince you otherwise,” Teldryn predicted.

She nodded.  “As I was packing my things into the cart for Winterhold he arrived and told me he forgave me.  He said he understood that I had been tricked by a daedra, that I hadn’t meant to get married, and that we could ‘work out’ the dragonborn thing.”

“Work out being dragonborn?” Teldryn groaned.  “I hope you hit him.”

“I didn’t.  I kissed him on the cheek, told him good bye, got in the cart, and left him standing there.”

“Admirably restrained of you.”

“The worst part is, the more I think about it, the more I realize the entire time we were together I was falling in love with someone else.  Doesn’t _that_ make me a bad person?”

“No,” Teldryn sighed, feeling profoundly resigned to the role he found himself playing.  “Just a very young one.”

That caused her to give a slightly choked chuckle.  “Thanks, old man.”

“No problem, baby girl.” There was silence between them again. “The guy you’re in love with... is it mutual?”

“… Yes.”

“The discovery you’re dragonborn didn’t scare him off?”

“He indicated it was a relief to finally have an explanation as to why my life is so strange.”

That made Teldryn smile. “Will he be joining you here in place of your accidental husband?”

“No.  We’re… not together.”

Teldryn frowned at that. “You’ve been mutually in love since before you discovered you are dragonborn and…” it hit him.  He propped himself up on his elbow to look down at her. “The Thalmor Justiciar?” he asked, aghast.

“Commander and Second Emissary to Skyrim,” she affirmed, softly.

“And you’re _certain_ of his feelings for you?”

“He was pretty clear about them the last time we talked.”

“Clear how?” Teldryn demanded, disbelieving.

Alexa rolled her eyes. “I’m may not have figured out the ins and outs of Altmer flirtation but when someone straight up tells you that he regrets not having told you about his feelings before you married someone else… that’s a pretty clear message.”

“Remarkably clear,” Teldryn agreed.  “What did you tell him?”

“I asked him if it was a good idea for the Second Emissary to Skyrim to be in a relationship with the dragonborn.”

“Practical, but not particularly romantic,” Teldryn smirked.

“He… doesn’t know there’s a death order out there with my name on it,” she whispered.

“So he also doesn’t know about the grand master thing?”

“Or my real name.”

“Awkward.”

“In my defense, even after he pointed out that I’ve never used a family name in Skyrim, he didn’t ask me what it was.”

Teldryn thought about that for a second.  “Either he is the worst investigator in the world or he’s decided you’ve got your reasons and he doesn’t want to know…”

“Still, I’m not sure being loved by a Thalmor Commander is necessarily proof that one is a good person.”

“Given that you’re human, it is definitely proof that you’re charming.”

“You mean that I’m dragonborn?” she asked, wearily.

“It seems we’ve come full circle,” he admitted.  There was silence between them for a while.  “So what is your real name?” he asked, finally.

“Sikendra d’Arthe,” she answered quietly.

“Of the d’Arthe trading… oh. Not, I take it, killed off by their competitors in the East Empire Company as was rumored.”

“No.”

“All to get to you?”

“It would seem so.”

“No wonder you’re not together.  What are you going to do?”

“Apparently move to Solstheim and shack up with an elderly Dunmer,” she smiled.

“Says the woman who seems to have a thing for at least one older mer,” he pointed out.

She thought about it for a second and then began to snicker.

“What?” he demanded.

“I just realized my husband’s even older than you are…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 From this point onwards Alexa has access (via Apocrypha) to “obscure texts” aka unofficial lore ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/obscure-texts)).
> 
> 2 Call back to A2:15, 5 ([link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17462264/chapters/41663186)) and A2:29 ([link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17462264/chapters/42359963)).


	7. Cleansing the Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Age is an odd thing in TES.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solstheim, Day 6 (Winter, 4E 202)

Teldryn had thought the trek to Saering’s Watch, and back, killing two dragons, and cleansing the Wind Stone, had made for a long day.  He had been naive. 

On the fifth day of their association the dragonborn had woken up early and, steaming cup of tea in one hand, talked to just about every person in the Skaal village.  Furthermore, it seemed that, after the horrors of the previous day’s cold weather, she’d decided to purchase Skaal coats for them both.  A project the Skaal seemed only too pleased to help with, drowning the petite Breton in oiled horker skin lined with ice-wolf pelt.  By the time they were done she looked not unlike a child wearing their elder siblings clothes.  There was something a little endearing about it.

It was nearly ten AM by the time they finally left the village, wearing their new winter coats, traveling southwest to the Beast Stone before doubling back a bit to drop down into the slightly warmer climes of the eastern coast.  The dragonborn, thankfully, seemed completely unmoved by the plight of the Nord warriors, from Thrisk Mead Hall, they came across at a rather ramshackle camp on the shore.  Though she smiled politely she didn’t stay to hear their story beyond learning that rieklings had taken the hall and wishing them luck with taking it back.  The stray dog they found, a little further south, was a different matter entirely.

“TAH,” she said, offering her hand to the dog.

The dog stopped barking and immediately shoved its head between her knees with a deep, shuddering, sigh.

“I think I’ll call you Krin,” she told the dog, scratching its back.  “It means ‘courage’ in the dragon tongue.”

Teldryn had, briefly, hoped that Meeko might save him from the addition of a second dog to their traveling group but Meeko, far from being upset, appeared to be ecstatic over his new friend, running circles around everyone and even repeatedly licking the other dog’s face. 

After cleansing the Sun Stone they’d stopped by Tel Mithryn, to drop off the spawn ash they’d collected, just in time to see a young man Teldryn assumed was Neloth’s apprentice lose control of a creature he’d summoned and then run away rather than deal with it.  Alexa, however, simply summoned a bound bow and shot the thing once, banishing it back to Oblivion.

“You made that look easy,” Teldryn noted casually.  “If I didn’t know anything about conjuration I might have assumed the boy was grossly incompetent rather than in real danger.”

“Thank you?” Alexa responded, sounding dubious.

“It’s a good thing he didn’t stick around,” Teldryn continued as they climbed the ramp to the main tower. “Or watching someone a full decade his junior fix his mistake that easily really would have been embarrassing for him.”

“I’m a Grand Master,” she reminded him, pulling off her mask as they stepped through the tower door. “Even if I’m not particularly skilled at something I usually have a large enough magicka pool to brute force it.”

“Except that particular version of the spell you just used requires an adept proficiency level,” he smirked, stepping onto the levitation glyph.  “No way to brute force that.”

A brief, whispered, conversation with Talvas left Teldryn in possession of a staff of paralysis.  Not bad for the price of a single arrow from a bound bow.  An equally brief, but somewhat more entertaining, conversation with Neloth, upon delivery of the spawn ash, revealed that his steward had, apparently, disappeared.  So Alexa had promised to keep an eye out for the woman.  A stop by the apothecary, in the hope of picking up a few potions, had gotten them an earful about Neloth and his unreasonable demands and the information that Verona had set off for Raven Rock the previous day and not returned.

Two portions of blisterwort purchased and promises to soak taproots made they started towards Raven Rock. “Aren’t you going to ask about the Black Books?” Teldryn enquired as they walked away from Tel Mithryn.

“Stones first,” she replied. “I think it’s more important, at this point, to stop the construction of the shrines than figuring out how to kill Miraak.”

“If you kill him, they’ll stop building the shrines,” Teldryn pointed out.

“Storn said to defeat Miraak I would need to learn the knowledge that Miraak learned.  But… it’s… I don’t know.  Something’s bothering me about the whole situation.”

Teldryn cocked his head at that but didn’t otherwise respond.

She made a noncommittal gesture.  “It just… it seems to me that everyone on this island – from random madmen to Telvanni wizards to Nord blacksmiths and Skaal shamans – knows _just_ enough to set me on a path to reading more and more of these Black Books.  It feels… contrived.”

“You think everyone on the island is trying to see how many of them we can get you to read?” he asked, skeptically.  Surely if she had some sort of persecution complex it would have shown itself _before_ now.

“Not exactly,” Alexa replied.  “I am becoming a little worried that the daedric prince of fate is setting me up.”

“To what purpose?” he asked.

“I don’t know.  But the Black Books… I don’t trust them.” 

“Why, because they grow tentacles and wrap them around your head?” he asked, sarcastically.  “That seems very narrow minded of you.”

“There is that,” she laughed. “But they’re stranger than that.  When I read the one I found in Miraak’s temple a second time I realized that it felt… a little like reading an Elder Scroll only less like a fragment of endless possibility and more like a maze in which choice is an illusion because all roads lead to the same location.”

“You’ve read an Elder Scroll,” Teldryn remarked flatly, uncertain why he was even surprised.

“Two, actually.  In sequence.  But that’s not really the point.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing Sheogorath already has his hands in your head,” he told her.  “The competing sources of insanity might cancel each other out.”

She laughed again but sobered quickly.  “I fear that, in exchange for the knowledge contained in the books, I’m letting the Prince of Fate rummage around in my head.  I think… I think the books are traps constructed to lure people into Mora’s service.  Something about the way he greeted me the first time I read one…” she shook her head. “It makes me uneasy.  Especially if the knowledge Miraak learned is what has left him trapped in Apocrypha since the Dragon War.  I’d rather not read another one until I have some idea as to how to avoid becoming like Miraak… _What is that_?” she gasped pointing off to where a man sat beside a campfire on the edge of a cliff. 

“The silt strider?” Teldryn asked.

“ _That’s_ a silt strider?  Is all animal life in Morrowind insectoid?”

“That which isn’t lizard-like,” he replied.

“So… like no mammals or birds at all?”

“Very few.”

“Is that because of the heat and volcanic ash or the magical influence from Red Mountain?”

Her sudden excitement made him smile to himself behind his helmet.  “That’s not really the sort of thing a spellsword knows much about,” he told her, a little sternly.

“Even with at least two centuries to develop outside interests and hobbies?” she enquired.  “Surely you’ve done more with your life than babysitting adventurers?”

“Right, because studying animal species in the Ashlands is sooo much like learning to knit,” he drawled.

“You knit?”

“I do not.”

“I think I’m confused.”

“Thank Azura, I’m not the only one,” he sighed, as the dragonborn turned her attention away from him and onto the other Dunmer.

“From the look of you I’m guessing you've never seen a Silt Strider before?” the driver began upon noticing that the dragonborn had been reduced to a state of childlike wonder.

“No, it’s magnificent!” she gasped, moving to closely inspect the large insect.

Teldryn rolled his eyes behind his helmet and stopped paying attention to their conversation.  He did not, however, stop watching his patron. Her conversation with the former driver was detailed and animated.  Was there _anything_ she wasn’t interested in learning about?

In the end she purchased a few odds and ends from Revus more, Teldryn thought, as a way of paying him for his time than because she wanted any of the miscellaneous things in his inventory.1

They found Verona’s body, and a small horde of ash spawn about twenty minutes later.

* * *

Something was clearly bothering his usually chatty patron as they walked away from Tel Mithryn for the second time in one day.  “Something on your mind?” Teldryn finally asked as they hopped the small stream.

“The mycologist… She said she was a young girl when Red Mountain erupted, meaning she’s probably younger than you are, but...”

“She seems older to you,” he finished for her.

“Older even than Neloth,” Alexa agreed.  “But she said Neloth was old even when she was a child.  I… think I don’t understand how mer age.”

“Mer who frequently use magic, typically, age more slowly than those that don’t, like alchemists,2” he answered.  “It also helps to be relatively pureblooded.”

“The oldest mer I’ve ever met was well into his fifth millennia but appeared, to me, to be no older than you,” she told him.  “But, while he was definitely a pureblood, he wasn’t a particularly impressive mage.”

“Four thousand years?” Teldryn whistled, impressed.  “That _is_ extremely unusual.  There can’t be more than a handful of mer that old, even in Summerset.  Still, Miraak’s that old, and he’s human.”

“No…” she disagreed. “He is dragonborn.”

“So there’s some chance you’re going to live that long?” Teldryn smirked.

“I… don’t know.”  They walked on in silence for a while before she suddenly turned on him.  “Merciful Mara, why would you even _suggest_ something like that?” she demanded shoving him lightly.

“Like what?” he asked, genuinely confused.  His mind had been on other things for last ten minutes.

“That I might live for four millennia!”

“You’re right, living as long as a mer is a _terrible_ fate,” he countered.  “Besides, it’s not exactly likely, is it?  The Septims may have lived a long time, by human standards, but I never heard of one making it to two hundred.”

She looked away from him. “None of them ever absorbed a dragon soul,” she whispered.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” he asked, repressing the shiver of fear that had just run up his spine.

“Dragons are _immortal_.  Even if their physical form is killed their soul, unless its absorbed by another being, remains _here,_ on Nirn, trapped in their bones, capable of being returned to full life _at any time_.  But when I absorb them… it’s not like putting things in a jar.  The dragon souls don’t _stay_ separate from mine.  Over time they combine with my own, _completely_.”

“What are you saying?”

She closed her eyes. “I think I’m saying that it’s possible Miraak still lives, not because of his connection with Hermaeus Mora, but because the number of dragon souls he absorbed has made him immortal.”

“And how many souls is that?” Teldryn asked, his tone softening.

“I counted ten soulless dragon skeletons on the main approach to the temple, five along the ridge, and three inside.  So at least eighteen?”

“And how many have you killed?”

“Nine, so far.  But, if I kill Miraak, I will probably absorb his soul, which would include all the power from the dragon souls he has absorbed…  I think I’m going to be sick.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her towards him.  “Look at me,” he ordered.  “So far this is all speculation, you don’t know what will happen when you kill another dragonborn.  As far as I know that’s never happened before anywhere on Nirn much less in Apocrypha. Don’t freak yourself out with idle speculation.”

He saw her swallow hard. “You’re right, of course.  When we’re done cleansing these stones I’ll go ask Paarthurnax about it.  He’ll know. Then I can panic to my heart’s content, on top of a mountain, where no one else can hear me scream.”  She turned away from him and began walking again.  “That way, with any luck, the world can go on believing the dragonborn knows what she’s doing and isn’t mere seconds away from a nervous breakdown…  Is that a light in the distance?”

Watching her walk towards the point of flickering light in the distance, inland from where they stood, Teldryn sighed.  It was hard to tell if the dragonborn’s distractibility was a good, or bad, thing. One thing, however, was certain: it was leading to him getting a lot of unnecessary exercise.

* * *

The dragonborn managed to buy a very fancy glass bow from the sketchy Dunmer in the ramshackle trading post. Which meant it was nearly two AM by the time they got home, since the dragonborn had felt it wouldn’t be safe to sleep in the manor until they had cleansed the Earth Stone .

The dogs immediately bedded down together, next to the fire in the kitchen, and Teldryn didn’t have the mental fortitude to wonder why the Rose dremora glared at him while it hustled the Breton woman down the hall to her room before vanishing in a puff of purple light.

He didn’t think he’d been happier to see a bed in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 In one of my play-throughs Revus was killed by some ash spawn. I had to stop my game and go download a revival spell mod (I play on PS4) because I couldn’t stand the idea of Dusty being all by herself.
> 
> 2 This is just a guess. Don’t quote me.  
> In reality I think Bethesda hasn’t been as careful, or consistent, about aging mer – and how that appears physically – and why some can be so much older than others, as they might have been.


	8. Echoes of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexa converses with a Hagraven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solstheim, Day 7 (Winter, 4E 202)

When Teldryn left his room, the next morning, he found the dragonborn, and the dogs, were not in the house.  Breakfast was, however, laid out for him.  He sighed.  The girl needed to get more sleep.  It didn’t matter how inhuman – possibly immortal – she was, there was no way this perpetual lack of sleep was healthy.

He was just finishing up when the front door opened and Meeko and Krin came bounding into the room ahead of the dragonborn.  Upon seeing him they immediately crowded around the table to beg for a piece of his breakfast.

“What’ve you been up to this morning?” Teldryn asked Alexa, as she dropped her pack on top of a barrel of vegetables.

“Sold the junk we’d picked up,” she tossed him a purse with his cut in it, “and handled that new steward thing for Neloth.  Don’t know how much he’s going to like the results but, given the way the people around here seem to feel about him, he’ll have to send to Morrowind if he want’s better.”

Teldryn snorted softly. The Telvani wizard-lord’s impression of himself and the impression the citizens of Raven Rock had of him were in no way related.

“I also purchased a few days of traveling food, for which I had to listen to Geldis gush about his renewed business and then something about the guards spotting werewolves in the mountains…”

“Heard about that from the beach patrol a few weeks ago,” Teldryn acknowledged.  “Not sure how seriously I’d take it.  They’re not always the most sober individuals.”

“Well, given what the Skaal said about werebears in the area I think it fair to say that Hircine’s hold on the island is somewhat stronger than I’m comfortable with.”

Teldryn gave her a curious look.

“Hircine’s not my favorite daedric prince,” she admitted with a slight frown.  “Still, I doubt it will be a problem.”

* * *

“All this walking...” Teldryn complained as they headed north after dealing with the bandits at Brodir Grove.  He was still trying to come to terms with the amount of money Alexa had simply handed the Dunmer “explorer”, digging in the Nord barrow, earlier in the day.  “I wish there was a silt strider around here.”

“You mean _other_ than Dusty?” she asked.

“I wish there were a _working_ silt strider around here,” he amended.

“Well I can always summon Arvak for you, if your old bones get too tired,” she told him.

“Arvak?”

“Oh, you haven’t met him yet!  Allow me to introduce you,” Alexa smiled at Teldryn, her hand glowing with the dark blue light of a conjuration spell.

To Teldryn’s dismay what she summoned was a glowing, translucent blue, skeletal horse with flaming mane and tail.

“Arvak,” Alexa smiled, patting the steed on a shoulder bone. “This is Teldryn.  Teldryn, I found Arvak in the Soul Cairn.”

“I think I’ll walk,” he told her, firmly.

“Suite yourself,” she said, mimicking him.

* * *

On their way to Moesring Pass a cluster of six stones lit by candlelight, in the shadow of a cliff face, caught their attention.

“What in Azura name happened here?” Teldryn whispered, staring down at the dead Nord woman on the central slab.1

Alexa knelt beside the body looking it over carefully.  “Initially poisoned with a mixture of wolfsbane and belladonna,” she murmured, pointing to some foaming around the dead woman’s mouth and a stippling rash across her throat.  “The mixture would have left her drained of both magicka and stamina.”2

“Unable to fight back,” Teldryn summarized and Alexa nodded.

“But she was actually killed when her heart was – expertly – removed,” Alexa continued, peering into the gaping hole in the woman’s chest.  “The costal cartilage, of the second through fifth ribs, has been cleanly detached.”

“Meaning someone’s done this before,” Teldryn summarized.

“Probably a hagraven,” Alexa added.  “The wound is very similar to that created when making a briarheart.  These other wounds though, deep as they are, didn’t bleed much indicating they, at least, happened _after_ she died…”  Alexa rocked back on her heals, still considering the altar.  “Seems the Redoran Guard were right,” she concluded. “There are, or _were_ , werewolves in the area.”

“Were?”

“This,” she gestured at the dead Nord woman, the candles, and the six stones, “is the rite of the Wolf Giver; a method for curing lycanthropy that _doesn’t_ piss off Hircine.  But, usually at least, only a member of the Glenmoril Wyrd can instruct a would-be ex-werewolf in how to complete it.”

“And how is it _you_ know so much about the cult of Hircine?” Teldryn enquired, remembering the distaste for the prince she’d expressed earlier in the day.

“Know that, two years ago, I would have killed you for this,” Alexa announced, raising her voice in a way that indicated she was no longer speaking to Teldryn.

“But now you are one of us,” a rasping voice, from the nearby cave entrance, croaked, startling Teldryn. The hagraven grinned at them both before fixing her eyes upon Alexa.  “Now you know that the responsibility for this lies with the one who sought freedom, not with the one who pointed the way.  Welcome to Solstheim, Beast Master.  As you can see your services are not needed here.”

“I still hold you, and your prince, responsible for the things done in his name, but… you can be assured that I am here for reasons other than to offer the services of a Beast Master in this place,” Alexa answered steadily.

“Good,” the hagraven croaked.  “You are not in good standing with _our_ prince.  It is best that his frustration with you not overflow onto those who dwell here.”

“Oh?” Alexa asked skeptically.

“You freed, without sacrifice, those you should not and have left your own hunt for far too long.  The trail grows cold and the Huntsman impatient. It is not safe, Beast Master. Even for you.”

“I hunt a Manifest Metaphor and am being hunted by what I’m coming to believe is an institutionalized madness,” Alexa told the hagraven.  “To which hunt are you referring?”

“What stalks you may be an idea, Beast Master, but you will never be safe until it is dead.”

“And how does one kill an _idea_?” Alexa demanded.

“Do as you have before,” the hagraven instructed sternly.  “Turn the hunt inside out.  Find its den by hunting those that dwell within it.  Only they have the knowledge you require.”

“I do not torture people,” Alexa replied, standing up.  “Or sacrifice others to undo my mistakes.”

The hagraven snorted indelicately.  “No, dragonborn, _you_ are the sacrifice laid out upon the altar of creation.  You will suffer and bleed and, maybe, even die trying to complete the purpose for which you were created.  But, even should you slay your current quarry, that Other will still seek your death. Perhaps it will even succeed and rip your heart from your still living chest… it has happened before, has it not?”3

Alexa blanched and the hagraven gave a wheezing laugh.  “Hear my advice, Dragonborn.  Knowledge and power flow into you, like a soul into a gem, and, like the gem, another has always chosen what fills you.  But you are no inanimate object.  Learn control – learn to choose – or be destroyed, even as your brothers were.”

Alexa stared, silently, at the hagraven for a moment.  “Thank you for your advice,” she whispered with a slight bow.  “I hope this assistance does not cost you.”

The hagraven snorted again. “My sisters and I guided the Nerevarine through the rite of the Wolf Ender.  If our lord could forgive that, He will forgive a little guidance… from one sister to another.”  She turned and hobbled back into the cave.

“ _Shit_ ,” Alexa hissed, under her breath, as she turned away from the altar.

“Do I get an explanation?” Teldryn asked softly, as she passed him, not moving from where he stood.

“Later,” she told him. “I need to think first.”

He nodded, and turned to follow.

* * *

“Do you know what this is?” Alexa asked, looking around her as Teldryn pulled a riekling spearhead from his thigh.

“A poor attempt to use Dwemer tech in a different capacity?” he grumbled, trying not to let the relief of the healing spell Alexa casually threw his way fill his voice.  He’d have to take a closer look at it when they camped but, for now, the pain had receded and the bleeding stopped.  He tested his weight on it.

“It’s the remains of a Dwemer airship!” she told him, picking open a box behind the stairs. “Ah, here we are.  The book I was looking for.”

“You were really looking for _that_?” he demanded incredulously.

“Weird, I know.  But the College Librarian has his ways of finding things…  It _would_ be interesting to know how he does it.” She looked around her appreciatively again.  “Would you mind if I took a moment to sketch some of the mechanisms?”

He shrugged.  “Sun will be going down soon.  I’ll set up camp outside.  It’s too loud in here.  Besides between that spire of rock and everything the riekling scavenged we should do well enough.”

Alexa handed him her pack after removing her journal and a few writing implements.  “There’s a centurion dynamo core in there,” she told him. “Along with the tuned lever required to slow it’s rotation.  It’ll work better for cooking, and staying warm, than trying to build a fire on snow.”

* * *

“So, you are a member of the Glenmoril Wyrd?” Teldryn asked, as they settled into their bedrolls that night, the rock shelf they were lying on warmed by the strange red glow of a Dwerem dynamo core.

“Not technically, though I agree the technicalities don’t seem to matter much.”

“Not _technically_?” he prodded.

She took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly.  “Long before I was revealed as dragonborn I was already a Grand Master. I thought it was enough to explain the heightened interest the daedric princes seemed to take in me.  Maybe it did and the dragonborn thing has only made it worse… I don’t know.  Either way, some poor decision making on my part, in the summer of 199, brought me into direct contact with an avatar of Hircine.  _He_ made me a Beast Master, following the traditions of the Foresworn _not_ the Glenmoril.  So no.  I am not a member of the Glenmoril though I have been granted a few abilities usually considered – by those who are not Foresworn – exclusive to their coven.”

“So you’re a member of the Forsworn?”

“My status as a Beast Master has lead to my adoption into one of their tribes, yes.  And yes, I was gifted a set of their ridiculously scanty armor, but no I have never worn it.  Skyrim is far too cold for such things.”4

“I see,” he smirked, knowingly before sobering again.  “I thought you were being hunted by the Thalmor not... an idea?”

“It is all one,” she answered, in a dismissive tone.  “The Thalmor… I don’t know enough to fully explain it yet, but I’m beginning to think that at least the modern Thalmor, at its heart, is an organization based not upon a political philosophy so much as upon a cosmological model; one that has been ‘revealed’ to their leaders as a sort of ‘mystical hidden truth’ that, if properly embraced, will allow all mer to transcend material existence.”

“You mean it’s a cult,” Teldryn remarked dryly.  “That figures.”

She nodded.  “One that appears to believe I shouldn’t exist.”

He arched an eyebrow at that.  “Shouldn’t exist as in a basic teaching of the cult is ‘all dragonborn must die’, or as in you need to be disappeared because you don’t fit into their cosmological model and so are proof of some sort of flaw in the logical framework of everything they believe?”

“I don’t know,” she answered.  “But since they wiped out my family more than a decade ago I’d say the dragonborn thing is likely seen as further proof of concept rather than as initial cause…” she let her voice trail off and was silent for a moment, clearly thinking something over.  He waited her out.  “Not that they’re entirely wrong,” Alexa finally added.  “Dragonborn _are_ aberrations.  We exist only because something went very, very, wrong during the Mythic Era and Akatosh, and the jill, have been trying to fix it ever since.  But I don’t…” she sighed, rolled onto her back, and looked up into the dark sky.  “There are too many memories to sort through. And each time I kill another dragon it just adds _more_.”

“And that isn’t a problem for you?”

“It is – more than you can imagine – but… the world seems unwilling to slow down for me.  And the dragons are more than willing to hunt me down even when I do not go to them.”

Teldryn considered that for a moment.  “And you hunt… a manifest metaphor?” he prodded, frowning, uncertain he’d heard correctly.

“The dragons tell me that, in the Dawn Era, belief gave physical manifestation to concepts.  Some of these manifestations endured long enough to gain believers of their own and become gods, but they all _began_ as metaphoric physical manifestations of a conceptual piece of Aurbic law or the lesser laws of nature and existence.  The concept of Destruction has taken many forms – many avatars – since the idea of boundary – of being _finite_ – first became a law of Creation.  But the one that belongs to the triad of the of the _world’s_ creation, existence, and destruction, is Alduin, the World Eater.  For reasons I do not fully understand He neither achieved transcendence, nor faded away, but remained here, on Nirn, until the end of the Mythic Era when he suddenly vanished.”

“At the end of the Dragon War,” Teldryn guessed.

“At its turning point, certainly,” Alexa agreed.  “But Alduin the World Eater has returned.  Even now he calls His dragon followers back from their graves.  Should they go unchallenged His dragon army will conquer the world and this cycle of creation – this kalpa – will likely end.”

“How long do we have left?”

“Guessing, I’d say, maybe as much as a century, or as little as a decade.  Dragons are extremely powerful foes and there are very few people remaining with the skills to fight them effectively.”

“And _you_ are supposed to stop him?” he demanded, astonished.

She gave a bitter little laugh.  “Actually Miraak was supposed to stop him.  But I’m beginning to suspect that Hermaeus Mora goaded the first dragonborn into trying to prove that he was master of his own fate by not doing so.”

“You’re telling me that Miraak chose to allow the continued existence of a being meant to end the world just to prove he didn’t have to do what his father wanted?” Teldryn demanded incredulously.

“Pride is not an uncommon failing in my brothers and, for those of us bound tightly by fate, free will is an alluring concept.  But… lately I’ve been thinking, that free will may not be the ability to choose one’s fate so much as to choose the path one takes to get there.  No act of will, on my part, can change the fact that I am dragonborn but I do not think this means I must follow in the footsteps of Miraak or Talos.  In fact, I am almost certain our Father would rather I took a different path from theirs.”

Teldryn was silent for a while.  “So, now that you’ve confirmed Miraak is to blame for what is happening on Solstheim, how do you plan on dealing with him if you think Hermaeus Mora is setting a trap for you?”

“We’ll finish cleansing the stones and then I’ll go ask Paarthurnax what he knows about Miraak and Hermaeus Mora and the Black Books… and if there is a way to choose what I absorb. The hagraven was not wrong.  I should find a way to actively participate in the shaping what I am becoming.”  She paused, watching the shifting colors of the aurora that had just begun.  “Not like Talos.”

“Who is Paarthrunax?”

“A dragon and my teacher.”

Teldryn nodded.  That made a strange sort of sense.  “And what happened to Talos?”

“He was drake.  His – lust is not the right word – _compulsive acquisition_ of power… resulted in his absorbing something that, perhaps, he should not have.”

“And that was?” he prompted.

“Shezarr,” she answered softly, and then shook her head.  “I can’t fully explain that either… yet.  As I said, I’m only just beginning to sort through – much less understand – the accumulated knowledge of the dragon’s I’ve already killed.  Luckily only one of them was alive at that time so I only have his memories to work through for information on Talos.  As for the rest… their memories of how things were…

“There are so many pieces – fragments – of a shattered frozen form that I cannot find the edges of… There _is_ a pattern, somewhere, to what has happened to the world, but I do not see it yet.”

“There may be many who envy you, dragonborn,” Teldryn told her, softly.  “But I do not think I will ever be one of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Image](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/47048674804_ff6bd8a003_b.jpg)
> 
> 2 Real World symptoms of poisoning from wolfsbane (foaming at the mouth) and belladonna (rash). TES Wolfsbane Petals: ([link](https://elderscrolls.fandom.com/wiki/Wolfsbane_Petals)) 3. Drain Endurance, 4. Drain MagickaTES Belladonna: ([link](https://elderscrolls.fandom.com/wiki/Unripened_Belladonna_Berries)) 4. Drain Magicka.
> 
> 3 Alexa would assume the hagraven is referring to one, or more, of the following “hearts”: the Heart of Lokhan, the Mantella, or the Amulet of Kings… There is a surprising amount of heart removal/replacement in TES lore. See my lore notes for further discussion. ([link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17535269/chapters/44683564))
> 
> 4 Quick aside: Skyrim, while just as far north as High Rock and Morrowind, is considerably colder than its neighbors because each region’s respective Tower alters the landscape around it. (See Subtropical Cyrodiil: A Speculation)


	9. Water Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solstheim, Day 8 (Winter, 4E 202)

The dragonborn screamed in frustration and anger; the earth trembled and the previously cloudless sky grew dark.  “Run!” Teldryn yelled at the few people who had not already had the sense to flee. “Get out of here!” 

The storm hit, deluging the area around the Water Stone in a torrent of rain as lightning struck the ground repeatedly around1 where the dragonborn knelt before the skeletal remains of yet another dragon.

“Storm Crowned indeed,” Teldryn muttered, grabbing Alexa by the upper arm and hauling her to her feet. “Come on little dragon.  It’s time for us to go home and for you to take a day off.”

It was fully dark by the time they stumbled through the front door of Sevrin Manor.

Teldryn was only a passible cook.  Luckily there was still some dry meat and cheese left over from the last time the kitchen had been restocked.  “Eat,” he ordered, putting a ‘sandwich’ in front of her.  “When you’ve finished, go take a bath.  I’ll deal with the dogs.”

* * *

The dogs had been dried, fed, and a second bear pelt had been added to the area in front of the kitchen fire where Meeko often slept.  Teldryn had changed into the gray robe he wore around the house, and cleaned his armor, but Alexa still hadn’t emerged from the bathing room.

“You haven’t fallen asleep in there, have you?” he asked, pushing the door open.  She wasn’t there.  Her armor was still on the floor but he couldn’t see her anywhere. Suddenly panicked he ran to the edge of the bathing pool.  Teldryn’s heart jumped into his mouth when he saw Alexa lying motionless on the bottom. Without thinking he jumped into the bathing pool and dragged her to the surface. 

Alexa opened her eyes, looking at him in confusion as she scrabbled to get her feet under her.  “Teldryn?”

“You’re alright!  I… I thought.  You were motionless on the bottom!  What was I supposed to think?”

“Waterbreathing spell?” she answered, sounding dazed.

“Oh…”  _Right. Mage_.  “Sheogorath’s tits you scared me,” he confided, his grip on her tightening slightly.  He paused, looking her over to make sure she really was ok.  She was a pretty thing, by anyone’s standards, he realized suddenly. 

“Why’s your hair purple?” he asked, to distract himself from the sudden, inappropriate, realization. 

“Sanguine,” she answered.

“Oh,” he said again, sounding almost as dazed as she did.  He hadn’t let go of her yet and she was standing all but pressed up against him from the way he’d dragged her to the surface.  “What color is it normally?” he enquired, letting go, and taking a step away.

“Black,” she answered, head tipped slightly to one side, ice blue eyes on his face.

“I see,” he swallowed hard. “I’ll, um, just let you get back to not drowning, then.”  He took another step back, and then quickly turned away.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alexa slide back under the water.

With a resigned sigh, it wasn’t like she was particularly aware of his presence at the moment, Teldryn stripped off his gray robe and wrung it out before throwing it onto the floor. He then used the soap he found on the edge of the pool to quickly wash off what remained of the last few days of travel before climbing from the pool and scrubbing himself dry with a towel off the shelf. 

Done, Teldryn donned one of the robes still hanging on the wall – deciding not to wonder which of the house’s former occupants it had belonged to – and then smacked the surface of the water a few times to get Alexa’s attention.

She surfaced with a dull, questioning, look.  He held a towel open for her.  She slid, silently, from the water and into his arms, standing, motionless, as he began to carefully dry her off.

There was the slightly fuzzy whirring noise of an alteration spell and he realized his hair, and hers, were suddenly dry.  “Seems dragon memories include a few useful things along with the nightmare inducing memories of the Dragon Cult,” he murmured, dropping the now equally dry towel on the floor beside the pile of her armor.  “Come on, little dragon, it’s bed time for you.”

* * *

When he woke, a few hours later, it was to Alexa whimpering, beside him, in her sleep.  If the things she whispered between distressed little sobs were words, it wasn’t in a language he recognized.  Surprisingly strong fingers dug painfully into his arm as the nightmare deepened.  Wincing he turned on his side to face her.  “Lexi?” he called softly, squeezing her shoulder with his free hand.  “Alexa, you’re having a nightmare.  Wake up.”  When that didn’t work he tried something else.  “Sikendra, get up right now or you’ll be late for class!”

Alexa’s eyes flew open as she startled into a sitting position.

“Son of a…” she gasped between heaving breaths.  “ _Why_ would you do that?”

“You were hurting me,” he told her, calmly, pointing to the rising bruises on his arm.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, with a guilty glance at the impression her fingers had left on his skin.

“It’s okay,” he told her, as a healing spell briefly flared around her fingers and his arm.  “Go back to sleep.”

She nodded mutely, sliding back down beside him to lie on her back staring up at the ceiling, just as he was.

There was slightly awkward silence between them for several minutes.

“You’re not falling back to sleep,” he eventually grumbled.

“Neither are you.”

“Should I go back to my room?”

“Only if you want to have to run all the way back here when the nightmares get bad enough I start screaming.”

“You can’t really have been living on this little sleep for months now,” he commented.  “How do you normally handle the aftermath of killing a dragon?”

“Lots and lots of sleeping potions,” she replied.  “But I already used the ones I brought with me and haven’t found the ingredients, locally, to make more...”

“Maybe we should make the potions a priority,” he suggested.

“I’ll ask Milore Ienth about it in the morning.”  There was silence between them for a few minutes, and then Alexa sighed and sat up.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

“I’m clearly not getting back to sleep, so I might as well go do something useful with my time,” she answered, slipping on a pair of fur slippers before disappearing in the direction of the alchemy nook.

He watched her go.  

This was a problem.  Teldryn liked Alexa and she paid well enough that he’d been hoping this job would turn into a long-term engagement of his services but her not sleeping, clearly, wasn’t sustainable.  If she kept it up Alexa would be insane, and dead, in under a year and Teldryn would probably be forced, by self-preservation instinct, to leave her service long before that.  What Alexa needed, he concluded, wasn’t a mercenary it was a companion who was enough of a friend that they wouldn’t let her go on like this.  But did he want that sort of relationship with his new patron? Being a person the _dragonborn_ could lean on didn’t seem like a particularly safe occupation. 

She was a funny creature, he reflected.  So interested in everything, so unphased by the crazy things that happened to her, and yet so very uncertain of herself.  _Young,_ he’d thought.  But sometimes, just for a moment, unimaginably old as well.  It was an interesting combination.

He ran a restless hand through his mohawk.  Sharing a bed had already thrown their relationship into the grey area between the typical relationship between a mercenary and their patron and… something else. Truthfully there was no reason for him to sleep in her bed.  Not when sleeping on the floor beside it would do just as well for waking her from nightmares, and yet here he was.  Worry for her had caused him to make the offer in the first place but simply having a presence beside her as she slept, it turned out, wasn’t enough to keep the nightmares at bay.  Truthfully he was more worried for her now than he’d been when he first made the offer.

The problem was that the most obvious – and likely effective – way Teldryn knew to deal with the current sleep situation broke one of the more important rules he’d laid down for himself over more than a century of mercenary work.  Getting along with one’s patron was acceptable – even preferable – being friends was allowable, if one was careful not to let it cloud one’s judgment, being lovers, on the other hand, could prematurely terminate a profitable partnership or make it impossible to leave a dangerous one… and Alexa already had both a husband and a lover.  Getting in the middle of that, no matter how unusual those relationships might be, seemed like a bad idea.

The only other way he could think of to deal with the current situaiton would require a level of organization and commitment he was certain the dragonborn was not currently capable of; at least, not on her own.  He sighed and rolled out of bed.  It seemed she was right about him.  Mercenary “babysitter” was his lot in life.

* * *

“You know, working yourself to death is not the only way to handle all this agitated energy,” Teldryn informed Alexa mildly, about fifteen minutes later.

“You have a better suggestion?” she asked, dully, turning to face him.

“My people have some experience with these things,” Teldryn answered, handing her a cup of canis root tea. “You’ve seen Neloth,” he added.  “He’s an extreme case, but I doubt his usual state of mind is functionally all that different from the one you are currently experiencing.”

“Now there’s a terrifying comparison,” she muttered, making a face at the bitter licorice flavor of the tea.  “This is foul, by the way.”

“I know,” he admitted. “It’s even worse cold, so drink it quickly.”

She pulled another face at that but dutifully drained the cup before setting it down on the alchemy table.  “Now what?”

“Now,” he said, “you are going to meditate.”

“What?”

“You told Storn you needed a week of meditation to learn a Shout.  If meditation can help you learn Shouts I assume it can help you sort out the dragon memories.”

She hesitated for a moment and then smiled a little wryly.  “I suppose freezing on a mountain top isn’t _actually_ necessary for contemplating the meaning of words.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Companion’s Insight: Your attacks, shouts, and destruction spells do no damage to your followers when in combat. (In-game Companion’s Insight doesn’t effect the lightning from Storm Call, but that is BS.) Eventually – after some thought and practice – the understanding Alexa has gained from this “insight” will give her the ability to choose who is affect by area of effect spells. At the moment it's a bit hit or miss.


	10. A New Source of Stalhrim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teldryn pulls the rug out from under Alexa… supportively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solstheim, Day 10 (Winter, 4E 202)
> 
> Hello everyone! I’m sorry it’s been a few weeks but life… got busy. My posting schedule is probably going to be slow for a while but I’ve got about 30 chapters outlined, and at least partially written, for Act 3 so I promise I haven’t gone away. Anyway, here’s chapter ten!

“It’s just one thing right after another with you, isn’t it?” Teldryn complained, mildly, as they walked away from the Skaal village.  They’d returned to the village – dousing three taproots in the Headwaters of the Harstrad along the way – to inform Storn that all the stones, besides the tree stone, had been cleansed, only to discover that the village smith was missing.

“You don’t mind killing Thalmor, do you?” Alexa asked as they made their way towards the abandoned lodge not far from the Altar of Thrond.

“What makes you think it’s the Thalmor?” he asked.

“High elves dragging something through the woods?” she responded sourly.  “Who else would it be?”

* * *

The Thalmor soldiers at the abandoned lodge didn’t fair any better than the Morag Tong had.  Upon entering the lodge Teldryn and Alexa could hear the Skaal smith calling for help from the basement.

“Ah, there you are,” Alexa smiled at Baldor Iron-Shaper as she descended the stairs.

“Outsider!” he gasped. “I remember you.  You’re the one who freed the Skaal from the dark spell. Thank the All-Maker that you have come. These accursed elves have taken me from my home.”

“Are you hurt?” she asked, crouching down beside him to cut his bonds.  “Do you need healing?”

“No, my wounds are not serious.  I don’t think the elves were trying to harm me.  Perhaps they intended to frighten me.  At worst, I have a few bruises to show for my ordeal.”

“Do you know what the Thalmor wanted with you?” she asked, casting Heal Other just incase the smith was not being totally forthcoming.  She noted, critically, that some color did return to his face as the spell took effect.

“I do not know this word Thalmor,” he admitted, relaxing slightly.  “But if you mean the elves, they were trying to learn the secrets of forging stalhrim.”

“Why would they need you for that?”

“Stalhrim is enchanted ice hard as iron and cold as death.  It can be forged into deadly weapons, but the art is known only to the smiths of the Skaal,” Baldor confided.

Alexa frowned slightly at that.  “The smith in Raven Rock would have me believe that stalhrim is an extremely rare resource.  Is there truly enough of it on the island to make the elves’ interest in it worthwhile?”

Baldor shook his head slightly.  “I would not have thought so.  But their leader, an elf named Ancarion, has a map.  He says that it shows the location of a hidden source of stalhrim.”

Alexa and Teldryn exchanged a look.  “Where can I find this Ancarion?” she asked.

“They have a ship. They took me there and showed me the map.  You will find it on the northern coast of the island.  Please, do not let Ancarion make his weapons.  Kill him or let him live, but take the map from him.  It belongs with the Skaal.”

“I will do what I can,” she assured him.

“Then I will return to the village,” Baldor announced, heaving himself up off the ground.  “When you have the map, please bring it to me there. And thank you.”

“Will you need help?” Alexa enquired, following him up the stairs.  “It will be dark soon.”

“No.  I will be fine.  I am not yet so old that I cannot find my way at night.”

“Then we will stay here and make for North Shore Landing in the morning,” she told him as he stepped through the door.

“May the All-Maker bless your days, my friends,” he said, nodding to them one last time before disappearing out into the growing darkness.

“You know what I don’t understand,” Alexa announced, the moment the door closed behind the smith.  “Why would the Thalmor soldiers take Baldor to their ship and then bring him all the way back _here_ to interrogate him?  It makes no sense.”  She sat down at the table and began to sort through the things they’d looted from the Thalmor soldiers outside, as Teldryn got a fire going in the hearth.  

“Maybe their leader didn’t care for the noise?” Teldryn suggested.  “Or maybe he thought distancing himself from anything that happened here would allow him to claim he wasn’t involved should the Skaal come knocking?”

“Maybe,” Alexa replied, noncommittally, as she unfolded a piece of paper, and frowning thoughtfully at the contents.  “But, if that was his intent, perhaps putting his orders in writing was not the best of plans?”

“Someone’s not used to setbacks,” Teldryn noted, reading the note over her shoulder.

“No kidding,” Alexa agreed, putting the note down and going over to the fire.  “It seems to me that Ancarion isn’t particularly good at this.”

Teldryn snorted at that but said nothing as he began digging through his pack.

“What’s the chance, do you think, that this is his first assignment this far from the Isles?” Alexa asked, blowing the dust out of the large pot by the fire.

“Outside the Empire even,” Teldryn remarked.

“You think he’s disposable?” Alexa asked, in surprise, as she headed outside to fill the pot with snow.

“No designated interrogator in the group,” Teldryn pointed out when she got back.

“So, he might not be expected to succeed…” she muttered, putting the pot full of snow beside the fire.  “Or whoever ordered him out here didn’t have the pull to requisition even an apprentice interrogator,” she added after a little more thought.

“So his search for stahlrim weapons is not even officially ‘off the books’...” Teldryn commented, using Flames to heat the water in the pot.

“As in not sanctioned at all?” she returned, glancing swiftly up at him.  “Who could send out a group of Thalmor soldiers without official sanction?”

He shrugged, going back to pulling food from his pack.  “The head of a great-house could do it.”

Alexa took the ingredients he handed her and set about making stew from a mixture of fresh ingredients and a jar of pre-cooked meat she’d purchased from Geldis.  “If someone’s trying to get ahead then it would be better for Ancarion to fail than to be found out, right?” she asked.

“Assuming Dunmer rules of engagement,” Teldryn acknowledged.

Alexa made a face.  “Grandmother always did say that knowing how to manipulate people was a life skill.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Teldryn enquired, taking a seat at the table.

“Well, it seems to me that, if we simply kill the entire group it is possible someone will eventually send people to check on them.  So I think we’re going to have to try to convince them to leave.”

“You think you can convince a Thalmor agent to accept failure?” Teldryn asked, absentmindedly pulling some twigs out of Krin’s tail as Meeko sat hopefully beside the fire with his bowl in his mouth.

“I think I can convincingly imply that, if he doesn’t play along, his presence on this island will end up in an official report to one of the Thalmor Emissaries in Skyrim.  If the reputation of the Fourth Emissary is what I believe it to be that will leave Ancarion, and his patron, open to _significant_ blackmail.  If it comes to it I also feel certain Councilor Morvayn would be _fascinated_ to hear about Thalmor activity on the island.”

“Isn’t there the chance that the Thalmor agent will see killing us as his best chance to avoid either of those events?”

“Well, if he does, we can always fall back on _your_ plan to just kill everyone,” she answered with a shrug.

He arched a brow at her. _My_ plan would have been to avoid the entire situation,” he informed her. “I just assumed, after what happened outside, that killing them all was still _your_ plan.”

“Sure, Sero, whatever you want to tell yourself,” Alexa laughed, handing him a bowl of stew before dishing some up for the dogs.  “You want to take bets on how condescending this Ancarion will be?” she asked, joining him at the table.

Teldryn considered her narrowly.  “What’s the scale?”

“We’ll call Neloth a nine out of ten,” she answered.

Teldryn snorted with laughter.  “Alright, you first.”

* * *

“You are interfering with official Thalmor business,” the Thalmor foot soldier informed Alexa as they approached the docks in the mid afternoon of the next day.  “You will leave immediately if you value your well-being.”

Alexa looked him up and down.  “Please tell your superior that I am a member of the College of Winterhold here on Solstheim with both the knowledge and approval of Fourth Emissary Ancano.”1

The foot soldier looked over his shoulder to the figure in Thalmor robes on the deck of the ship. The robed figure nodded once.  The guard grimaced slightly.  “You may go aboard, but know that we are watching you.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Alexa responded as she made her way down the dock.

“Your claim that you are here on behalf of the Fourth Emissary is an interesting one,” the mer in Thalmor robes began, his voice full of elegant condescension.  “But this is not Skyrim.  What is your purpose in this… place?”

“Strange cultists have attacked members of the College of Winterhold,” Alexa replied evenly.  “I have traced them back to this place and am now investigating the madness that has swept the inhabitants of this island.”

“That has nothing to do with my mission here,” Ancarion sniffed dismissively.  “Why approach me?”

“I require the aid of the Skaal to finish my investigation,” Alexa replied simply.

“So…” he began, tapping his fingers on the ship’s gunwale, “you are here for the map, then?”  He looked her, and Teldryn, over with a deepening scowl before sighing theatrically.  “I assume you’ve already found that dullard of a blacksmith.  Tell me, did my men simply let you take him?”

“Not exactly,” she answered. “I’d suggest cutting your losses.”

Ancarion’s expression turned hard but he tone remained languorous.  “Unfortunately for you, my mission here is a secret.  To protect it I have no choice but to silence you.  Now, give me one good reason that I should not kill you where you stand.”

Alexa cocked her head to one side her eyes never leaving his face.  “Perhaps I’m confused, _agent_ Ancarion.  Is the ability to exploit a resource as limited as stalhrim really worth the time and effort _the Dominion_ has invested in this endeavor?”

Ancarion’s jaw muscles visibly flexed as he ground his teeth. “I admit, we are not making the progress we had hoped,” he ground out.  “This venture may be more trouble than it’s worth. Still…” he leaned in slightly to tower over the Breton woman in front of him, “you cannot expect me to just hand you the map, so you can deliver it to the blacksmith and laugh at the foolish Thalmor you so easily outwitted.”

“You are suggesting that I might find the Thalmor funny?” Alexa returned, affecting a mild surprise.  “I assure you, agent Ancarion, that I find _nothing_ about you, or this situation, amusing.”

Teldryn watched in amusement as the agent recognized the threat for what it was and was left, open mouthed, and uncertain of how to respond.

Alexa smiled, coolly, at the now incredulous Altmer.  “But I am not unreasonable.  I may even be able to help you,” she continued, throwing Ancarion even further off balance.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked, suspiciously.

“The smith said that, in return for his freedom, he’d give me a few pieces of worked stalhrim…”2

“And you are offering to sell me these weapons you acquire?”

“I am offering to _trade_ them to you,” she replied.

Ancarion narrowed his eyes slightly at her word choice.  “And, I suppose, I have to give you the map first?”

“The smith will need stalhrim in order to make these weapons,” she pointed out.

He visibly hesitated for a moment before drawing a piece of paper out of a pocket and holding it out to Alexa.  “Very well, take the map.  Return here with stalhrim weapons and I will pay you a fair price for them.”

“No,” she replied, taking the map from him.  “The Skaal do not want you here.  Which means your continued presence would, likely, impede my own mission.  So I will forward, to you, the stalhrim pieces I manage to acquire.”

Ancarion hesitated again, briefly, before nodding his agreement.  “Fine.  My men weren’t happy here anyway.  If we can be rid of this place while still achieving our goal, so much the better.” He walked over to a makeshift writing desk beside the ship’s mast and quickly jotted something down.  “You may send them to this location.”

“Understood,” Alexa nodded, taking the paper.  “It has been a pleasure, agent Ancarion.”

* * *

“You’re not really going to help him, are you?” Teldryn murmured as the Thalmor ship pulled out to sea.

“Me?” she responded in slight surprise.  “No. But I owe Mephala a new toy.  A single stalhrim weapon, for agent Ancarion’s _personal_ use, forwarded to him by one of his more conniving fellow agents, seems like the sort of thing the She might find… diverting.”

Teldryn blinked once in surprise and then shook his head in disbelief.  “You are a little terrifying, sometimes, you know that?”  He looked up at the darkening sky and then at the small shack not far from where they stood.  “Come on.”

“It’s not that late yet, we can keep going and find someplace less… fishy,” Alexa pointed out, when she realized what Teldryn had in mind.

“No, we can’t,” he told her. “You are going to meditate for the next two hours.  Then we will eat and, if you still want to move on after that, we can discuss it.”

* * *

_Learn control, learn to choose, or be destroyed!_

Alexa startled out of her meditation.  The sun was just dipping below the horizon dusting the sky with pink and gold.  She watched, unmoving, as the first stars, planets all of them, the physical remains of the aedra, made their appearance.

“Something bothering you?” Teldryn asked, handing her a cup of canis-root tea.

“I am wondering if, a year ago, I would have sought out, confronted, and then threatened, a Thalmor agent the way I did today.”

“Have you come to a conclusion?” he enquired as she downed the tea.

She pulled a face and handed the cup back.  “I believe I would have killed him, and reported it to Councilor Morvayn, rather than interact with him myself.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“This seemed... better.”

“Setting someone up to have their life ruined by a daedric prince seemed ‘better’?”

“Turning the Thalmor against themselves… it is what they would do, in my place.”

“If it is bothering you so much, you could still choose not to,” Teldryn pointed out.  “That agent has already cut his losses.  If he truly expects you to live up to your side of the bargain then he will learn a useful lesson when you do not.”

“If I survive killing Alduin the Thalmor _will_ still come for me.  Hobbling them now may make a difference in the future.  I just… never thought I could before.”

“So you are more sure of yourself than you were?”

“Am I?” she wondered aloud. “And how does one tell the difference between being self-assured and being foolish?”

“You handled the interaction on the boat expertly enough,” he noted.

“Through sheer force of personality,” she responded, a touch of bitterness in her voice.

Teldryn frowned at that for a moment before it hit him.  “Ah... You are worried that you are changing.”

“I am changing.”

“Change is an inevitable part of life,” he told her.  “Why is it that this change bothers you?”

She shifted uncomfortably and then sighed in resignation when he continued to watch her, waiting for her response.  “I wonder how long it will be until I look at the people around me and, rather than seeing my friends and colleagues, see lesser beings that will never understand the world as I do.  How many more dragon souls will it be before I too deny the right of people to self-determination, as the dragons did, and as Miraak has?”

“And you see that as unavoidable?” he asked.

“I was created to kill a god,” she reminded him.  “Do you understand the implications of that?”

He cocked his head, still watching her.  “Tell me. What do _you_ believe the implications to be?”

“Only a dragon can kill another dragon and only a being with the power of a god can fight, much less kill, a god,” Alexa told him.

Teldryn poked thoughtfully at the fire, sparking it to greater life, before glancing back up at her. “You are dragonborn, a daughter of Akatosh,” he reminded her gently.  “Whatever your place on the power scale between a Grand Master and a god is, was, or will be, you were _born_ a demigod Sikendra.  It seems to me all that is left is for you to decide is what kind of god you wish to be.”

She stared at him in stunned silence.  “You say it so easily.”

He shrugged slightly. “I am Dunmer.  We have seen more than a few of our own rise to god-like status and I have seen enough, in the last ten days, to know that, whatever shape you wear, you are not truly human.  But there is a great distance between simply not being _human_ and being a monster.”  He smiled a little bitterly into the fire.  “In fact, I’d argue, that simply being human does not preclude one being a monster.”

“It does seem to limit one’s scope,” she pointed out.

“The shortness of human lives is good for that at least,” he agreed.  “But that does not change the truth of my words.  You still have choices left to make, dragonborn.  You should make them before circumstance make them for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Not technically inaccurate just deeply misleading.
> 
> 2 Alexa does not have the proper level of smithing ability to work with stalhrim herself.


	11. A Flurry of Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sidequest montage!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solstheim, Days 13-18 (Winter, 4E 202)

The cold, from the wind blowing down off the glacier behind Northshore inlet, woke Teldryn just after dawn.  Turning over he saw that Alexa was already awake and seated beside the fire with the dogs.  The scene, lit by the first golden rays cresting the glacier, was like something out of a particularly sappy Altmer painting.1  In the moment, her skin tinted golden by the new sun, Alexa almost looked like… Almalexia.2  The thought startled Teldryn enough that he bolted upright in his bedroll and then winced as various joints complained at the mistreatment.

Alexa smiled as he joined her and wordlessly handed him a mug of tea, knowing better than to try talking with him before he was fully awake.  Objectively, if not for the way she attracted trouble, the dragonborn was the best patron he’d had in decades, Teldryn reflected, taking a sip of the tea.  He didn’t know what she put in it but he knew by now that it would deliver the necessary morning stimulants as well as relieve the dull ach and stiffness of a night spent on the ground.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked finally, giving her a grouchy once over.  No one should look so put together this early in the morning.

“A while,” she answered. “I’ve already completed my morning meditation.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Five whole hours, I think,” she answered, handing him breakfast.

He settled on a chest they’d pulled out of the mud the evening before.  “What’s the plan for the day?”

“I thought we should check out the location on Ancarion’s map, see if it’s real or not, and look for the body of Glover Mallory’s apprentice,” she answered.

“Oh?” he asked, he’d wondered what had happened to the boy.

“It seems he thought he could sell a recipe for chitin armor to the rieklings,” Alexa told him, splitting what was left of the porridge into two bowls for the dogs.  “Apparently he hadn’t noticed they don’t have much in the way of crafting facilities.”

“They’re an odd group,” Teldryn remarked, stirring some of the heat out of his porridge.  “The locals seem to think they’re what’s left of the Snow Elves.”

Alexa shook her head. “Deeply unlikely.  For one thing they’re more goblinoid than elven.  Besides, I haven’t seen any aetherium on the island.”

He glanced swiftly up at her.  “What?”

“Given the current distribution of the Betrayed in Skyrim it seems likely the Dwemer were having them mine aetherium.”

“… Right,” he muttered, returning his attention to his food.  He wasn’t awake enough yet to think about the implications of that.

“I’d also like to check out the Dwemer ruins up the hill from the Water Stone before we head back to the village,” Alexa added.

“Alright…”

She gave him a slightly guilty look.  “I… uh, used to study the Dwemer.  Before the whole dragonborn thing.”

He nodded, not particularly surprised.

Clearly realizing their brief morning conversation was over Alexa rose from her sitting position with a fluidity that belied any stiffness from the cold or a night sleeping on the ground and began the process of breaking camp.  Teldryn ignored her until he was done, and had given Krin the last few bites of his breakfast, before creaking stiffly to his feet.  Traveling with a young demigod had its demoralizing aspects he reflected.

* * *

“The dwarves were a clever race,” Teldryn noted, the next day, as Alexa expertly navigated them through the upper levels of Fahlbtharz.  “I wonder what happened to them?”

“Mass neumolysis3 followed by absorption into the Numidium,” she answered, indicating with a gesture that he should ignite the oil on the floor to clear the spiders nesting in the hall ahead of them.

“And that means?” he asked, waiting for the flames to clear.

“Functionally?  The Numidium ate them…”4 she answered, beginning to move down the hall.

In the next room they killed two dwarven spiders and a dwarven sphere.  Teldryn was surprised when, rather than immediately setting about pulling the animunculi apart, the dragonborn took more interest in the ornamental mushroom garden.5 

As he came over to see what she was looking at Alexa gestured at the garden before them.  “Behold, cosmic irony.”

“I have always found decorative mushrooms deeply ironic,” Teldryn responded levelly.

“You remember how, only yesterday, I said I hadn’t seen any aetherium on the island?” she asked, pointing to the strange glowing rocks in the center of the arrangement.  “Well, now I have.”  She gave an exasperated little sigh.  “Do you mind if I take a moment to study this?”

“I don’t mind being paid to stand around,” he answered with a slight shrug.

* * *

The dragonborn – Teldryn thought as he considered the room full of giant, rotating, Dwemer cogs – was practicing avoidance.  Still, it was nice, after the past few days, to see her excited about something.

“How long did you study the Dwemer for?” he asked, catching up with her on the far side of a set of rotating bridges where she stood looking through the journal of a dead woman dressed like a Skaal.

“For four or five years before I came to Skyrim,” she answered. 

“Is there anything you haven’t studied?” he enquired.

“Many things, but staying a step ahead of the Thalmor meant remaking myself on several occasions,” she told him, her mind clearly focused on what she was reading.  “It’s… a little strange to think I was planning to have given up on being Alexa by now,” she added, closing the journal.  “It seems this woman, and her friend, came looking for a Dwemer artifact called the ‘Visage of Mzund’.”

“I suppose it is heartening to know they were here, risking their lives for a reason, rather than just exploring,” he responded dryly.

* * *

“Are you ever planning to be Sikendra again?” Teldryn asked, a few minutes later, as he handed Alexa the journal of a dead Dunmer.  He had to nudge her arm with it a few time to draw her attention away from the wall of resonators in front of them.

“Maybe, one day,” she answered, accepting the journal.  “Though, I suppose, it is possible being Iizkaandraal will replace being Alexa before I get around to being Sikendra again...” she paused, reading through the journal.  “Hey, can you shoot one of the glowing disks on the far left resonator?”

“Iizkandraal?” he asked, taking aim.

“My dragon name,” she answered, pulling a piece of charcoal from her pack to write with.

He did so and then glanced back at her as the resonator wound upwards and the little glowing nodes around the boiler began to pop out from the wall.  

Alexa considered the boiler for a moment, her head slightly cocked to one side. “It’s a steam pressure gauge,” she concluded, making a new note in the Dunmer’s journal.  “Hit that first resonator again, then hit the second one.”

“Alright...” he responded, loosing two arrows in quick succession.  “Do all dragonborn have dragon names?”

“Miraak means ‘Allegiance Guide’,” she informed him as the pegs on the boiler receded back into the wall before popping back out again.  “It was given to him when he became a dragon priest and so has only two syllables,” she continued, taking note of the new number of extended pegs.  “I suspect that Miraak was never given his full dragon name because he never fully accepted his role as dragonborn.  Dragon names are signifiers of purpose as much as they are names.  To refuse one’s purpose would be to refuse one’s name.”

“And what does _your_ dragon name mean?” Teldryn asked, repeating the process.

“The three syllables are: ice, Kyne, and prayer,” she replied, continuing to take notes.  “The dragon who told me my name translated it as ‘Kyne’s icy prayer’.  I assume it is in reference to Kynareth’s gift of my status as a Grand Master.”

“Talos also only has two syllables,” Teldryn pointed out.

“It’s also not Tiber Septim’s dragon name.  ‘Talos’ has no meaning in dovahzul.  The empire, of course, claims it means ‘Stormcrown’ in ehlnofex.  First two resonators on the left and the one in the middle on the right should do it.”

“You do not agree?” he asked, complying with her instructions.

“I am uncertain how much trust I would place in _any_ assertion made about Tiber Septim, no matter the source,” she answered as they watched the gauge around the boiler fill.  “Revisionism has always been a problem with figures such as he.”

“So what was Talos’ dragon name?” he asked, as a hollow grinding noise indicated the gate was now open.

“I don’t know,” she answered putting the Dunmer’s journal and her charcoal away and shouldering her pack again.  “I assume he had one but no dragon I have killed has known it.  Though, to be fair, only one of them was even alive at the time.”

* * *

“Well, what next?” Teldryn asked, as Alexa dropped her pack on the table.  The lift they’d taken out of Fahlbtharz had left them just north of the abandoned building in which they’d found the Skaal smith.  Which meant they were spending another night in the dusty lodge.  At least it had beds and a decent hearth he reflected.

“I thought we should deliver the map, and stahlrim, to the Skaal,” she answered, drawing the samples she’d taken from the mushroom garden out of her bag.  Then she took out a striking hammer and used it on the sample of glowing rock she’d taken.  Humming filled the room.

“Was that absolutely necessary?” Teldryn demanded, covering his ears, as Alexa hurriedly dampened the vibration.

“Just checking my original identification,” she replied, when the sound stopped and he’d removed his hands from his ears again.  “Have you seen rocks like this anywhere else on the island?”

“No,” he answered.  “Is it really aetherium?”

“Raw and unrefined,” she told him.  “But chunks that large are very rare.”

“I thought that it only came from a lost mine in Skyrim.  Why would the Dwemer here be using something that valuable as decoration in a planter?”

“They must have been studying its affect on plant life,” she answered, inspecting the unusually large mushroom she’d harvested from directly between the rocks.  “This looks like a type of bleeding crown,”6 she noted.

“If _that’s_ a bleeding crown then you should get rid of that rock sample,” he informed her.  “Take it from a Dunmer,” he continued in response to her questioning look, “if something can mutate plants that way it’s not safe for people to be around.”

“Noted,” Alexa smiled, and turned her attention to the Dwemer helmet they’d retrieved as he set about making the fire.  “Ever heard of Mzund?” she asked, after a moment.

He shook his head.

“I think it must be a smaller site, possibly now on the Morrowind side of the boarder with Skyrim. All I know for certain is that it was related, in some way, to the cities working with aetherium in Skyrim.” 

“Something they apparently had in common with Fahlbtharz,” he noted.

She nodded.  “If this thing is anything go by, I’d guess Mzund was working on infusing aetherium into metal... which, unlike working pure aetherium, may not have required something as unique as the Aetherium Forge to do.”

Teldryn watched her examine the tonal structure of the helmet for a while.  “You know…” he began.  “Aside from the obvious, flooded, city on the southwestern coast there _is_ another Dwemer ruin on the island, if you’re interested.”

“You ever been in it?” she asked, glancing in his direction.

“No.  It’s in a hole just south of the Temple of Miraak.  It’s not far from here.”

“We can go tomorrow and then spend the night at Tel Mithryn, drop off those taproots, and check on how Drovas is settling in,” she decided.

“You know Neloth will probably want you to do something for him, right?”

She shrugged.  “Could be interesting.”

* * *

Teldryn woke, late in the night, to see light coming up the stairs from the cellar.  He glanced in the direction of where Alexa had been sleeping only to find that Meeko and Krin had claimed the bed.

He rolled out of his own bedroll and went to investigate.

Alexa was sitting at the small round table, writing in a black bound book much smaller than the one they’d found in the Temple of Miraak.7

“I thought we’d talked about this,” he said, sitting down across from her.  “If you can’t sleep you’re supposed to meditate.”

“I tried, but…  You were right, meditating has helped sort through some of the dragon memories.  A few had interesting implications.  I was hoping that, if I wrote them down, my mind would stop fixating on them.”8

“So your current lack of sleep is due to partially solving the previous reason you weren’t sleeping?” he asked, tiredly.

“Yes.  You don’t need to worry though.  It’s been almost a week since I last killed a dragon.  If the pattern holds I shouldn’t have any trouble sleeping tomorrow.”

“Don’t think that means I won’t make you keep meditating,” he told her, standing up and making his way back towards the stairs and sleep.

“Hey, Teldryn?”

He paused, and looked back at her.  “Yeah?”

“Thank you for caring.”

* * *

Standing in front of Tel Mithryn, three days later, Alexa watched as Miraak absorbed another dragon soul.

“Do you ever wonder if it hurts?” the first dragonborn asked her menacingly.  “To have one’s soul ripped out like that?”  He laughed and faded back into Apocrypha when she refused to answer him.

“That seemed rather pointed,” Teldryn noted from where he stood, protectively, just behind her right shoulder. 

“You mean almost like he meant to imply that he intends to do the same thing to me?” she returned sarcastically.

“Something like that,” he replied, unruffled.

“Truthfully, I’m beginning to have mixed feelings about this,” Alexa admitted.  “On the one hand, no new memories to contend with, on the other… he’s getting stronger.”  She sighed heavily, and turned towards Raven Rock.  “Something tells me I need to make my information gathering trip to Skyrim a quick one.”

“You’re still planning on that?” Teldryn asked, sounding surprise.

“I still need to speak to Paarthurnax about choosing what I absorb and how to handle the attention of a particular daedric prince,” she reminded him.  “I haven’t seen anything to make me think either of those things have ceased to be important.

“Well, any time you want to head for Skyrim, I’m right with you,” Teldryn informed her affably.

* * *

“You’re leaving me behind?” Teldryn demanded, the next morning.

“I am,” she replied, adding a few last things to her pack.  When he didn’t argue, and the silence between them became awkward, she glanced up, meeting his eyes. “The Greybeards don’t much care for visitors,” she told him.

“And the house?” he asked, his red eyes boring into her.

“Is half yours.  Same as always.”

He said nothing.

“I shouldn’t be gone more than a month,” she informed him and then rolled her eyes when it became clear he wasn’t going to respond to that either.  “I can feel your disapproval, Sero.  I _can_ take care of myself, you know.”

He shrugged slightly his eyes still locked with hers.  “Fine, go on...  When you decide to return to your senses, you know where to find me.”  He pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against and walked away.  The last thing she heard from him was the door to his room closing behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 In my head Altmer fine art come in two major styles:  
> 1) an a-symmetric style that plays with negative, or blank, space, similar to that of Muromachi period Japan, and  
> 2) the lush intensity and romanticism of the Pre-Raphaelites.  
> There is probably a class distinction in preference between the calm stylized simplicity of the former and the color, detail, and emotional content of the latter. (Yes I am suggesting that the Thalmor would use art to emotionally engage the masses with a romantic narrative of regaining the perfection and heroism of the past… because that’s part of how fascism works.)  
> Equally, I feel, the Dunmer probably skew towards a more surrealistic style and subject matter.
> 
> 2 1) We know that Teldryn once met St. Juib. 2) We know St. Juib was killed during the Oblivion Crisis. 3) The Tribunal fell only six years before the Oblivion Crisis. So it is entirely possible, in-game, that Teldryn would remember the Tribunal and its members.  
> For those who don’t know/remember who Almalexia is I found her card art from TES: Legends and put some information about her in the margins. Take a look. ([link](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48088108918_244a9fc2a6_b.jpg))
> 
> 3 **"Neumo-lysis":** [P]neuma (Ancient Greek): spirit. Lysis: the disintegration of a cell by rupture of the cell wall or membrane.
> 
> 4 **Sytel:** “… Am I close?”  
>  **MK:** “Very. Pretty soon you get your own Stompy Robot. And cause absorbocide to your whole frikkin’ race.” - Made Up Word Round Up ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/made-word-round))
> 
> 5 Picture 1 ([link](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48105473366_158ce71ebb_b.jpg))
> 
> 6 Picture 2 ([link](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48105473251_f06470e07f_b.jpg))
> 
> 7 I believe the only black-bound book, that is not one of the “Black Books”, is the Book of the Dragonborn.
> 
> 8 Don’t worry, this will be elaborated on.


	12. Return to Winterhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexa visits Saarthal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late Winter, 4E 202

As Alexa entered the Hall of Attainment she thought she heard a soft snicker in her mind.  The voice sounded uncomfortably like Mephala’s. Putting _that_ aside for later consideration she dropped her bag on the floor of her room, opened her wardrobe, and stopped short.  Clothing she was absolutely certain wasn’t hers hung beside her own.

* * *

Enthir looked up in surprise as Alexa stepped, uninvited, into his room.  “Would you like to explain the new clothing in my closet?” she enquired calmly.

“The what?” he asked, blinking at her in surprise.  “Your wardrobe lock is pick-proof and I _definitely_ gave you the only key.”

Alexa’s eyes narrowed at that.  “Have any of our mutual friends been in town?”

“No.  Frankly, no one’s been in your room since you left, not even the Advisor and he used to borrow books from you fairly regularly. Speaking of whom…” Enthir stepped past her and closed his door conspiratorially.  “The Advisor’s been acting a bit odd.  He’s been disappearing – leaving college grounds – for several hours at a time most days.  I have no idea where he’d even go around here.  It’s not like he’s particularly welcome in town.”

“Alright…” Alexa said, narrowing her eyes.  There was no reason Enthir would have to close his door to tell her that.

The Bosmer sidled slightly. “Um, while you’re here, there _is_ a small problem I could use some help with.”

“Oh?”

“Arniel asked me to set up the delivery of something from Morrowind.  Don’t ask me what, he made most of the arrangements himself, so I don’t know.  But it was a simple task so I didn’t keep close tabs on it like I do with the dangerous stuff.  Arniel doesn’t know yet but the courier is missing...”

“Right…” Alexa drawled.  “I’m amused that you would assume something Arniel personally arranged to be delivered _from Morrowind_ wouldn’t be worth keeping an eye on.”

“Fine, yes, be a jerk about it,” he grumbled.

“Do you know if the courier made it out of Morrowind?” she asked, relenting slightly.

“My contacts tell me he crossed the boarder but did not make it as far as Riften,” Enthir told her.

“I’ll look into it,” she told him, tossing him a bag with three more Stones of Barenziah in it.

“You want me to see if I can figure out who’s been in your closet?” he asked.

“No.  Having had a moment to think about it, I’m pretty sure I know what happened,” she sighed, rubbing tiredly at her face.

“You ok?” he asked, giving her a sideways glance.

“People and dragons are trying to kill me,” she reminded him.

“You find any answers in Solstheim?”

“Not any good ones,” she sighed.  “Things are… complicated.”

He arched an eyebrow at that.

“Complicated enough that Hermaeus Mora seems to be involved.”

Enthir gave a low whistle. “That _is_ complicated.  My condolences.”

Alexa gave him a sour look. “Thanks.”

“How long before you think you can go looking for that courier?” Enthir asked without quite looking at her.

“I was intending to head south later in the week,” she told him.  “I’ll see what I can do then.  You’ll owe me though.”

He chuckled and shook his head.  “As you say, dragon lady…” he paused.  “You still helping Gane with his research?”

“I’m still interested in seeing what he’s up to, if that’s the same thing,” she answered.

“Well I have something he says he needs, but he hasn’t been able to pay me for it…” Enthir said reaching into a cabinet and pulling out a grand soul gem.  “We could call it even for the business with the courier.”

Alexa took the soul gem from him, looking it over carefully.  “What’s so special about this soul gem that it’s in some way of equal value to me hunting down, and killing, a bunch of bandits for you?”

“I can’t imagine what he expects to do with it,” Enthir admitted.  “It’s warped beyond any ability to capture a soul.  But finding a soul gem that fit his specifications wasn’t easy.”

“Fine,” Alexa agreed, pocketing the gem.

Enthir smiled.  “Best of luck, and give my regards to Karliah, if you see her.”

Alexa, who had been about to leave, stopped, and narrowed her eyes at him.  “Enthir… you _have_ told her how you feel, right?”

Enthir suddenly became quite engrossed in the contents of the chest he was putting the stones of Barenziah in.

“You’ve given her the stones I’ve already sold you, right?” she pressed.

Enthir made a semi-affirmative noise but didn’t look at her.

“But you did it without using the exchange as the starting point for a conversation about your relationship,” she surmised.

“I may have failed to mention any ulterior motive,” he agreed.

“You want _me_ to tell her?”

“No!”

Alexa crossed her arms and stared him straight in the face.

“No, it’s alright, I can handle it myself…” Enthir babbled, pulling nervously at his fingers.

“… Alright,” she allowed slowly.  “If there’s anything else you need from Riften, let me know before I leave.”

* * *

On her way back to her room Alexa ran into Tolfdir.  “You’re back!” he smiled.  “Your last paper, on the possibility that the ancient Nords used the thu’um to create the large underground spaces for their cities and temples, was fascinating!  I was hoping you might take some time out of your busy schedule to take a look at the parts of Saarthal we’ve uncovered,” he said, turning to follow her down the stairs.  “We seem to have hit something of a dead end.  But, with your experience, you might see something we haven’t.”

“The only thing I know about Saarthal is that the Dragon Cult never rebuilt it and that Jyrik Gauldurson is said to have fled there after killing his father,” Alexa admitted, continuing to her room.

“Truly?” Tolfdir returned, frowning slightly.  “You are certain the Dragon Cult did not rebuild it?”

“I am.”  Alexa replied, beginning to dig through her pack for the book she’d acquired for Urag.  “Why?”

“Well we’ve found an abundance of early First Era wards,” he explained, remaining outside her room and talking to her from the doorway.  “Perhaps they were placed by Jyrik Gauldurson’s allies to cover his retreat, but why would he retreat to a ruin?”

“Give me a day to rest and unpack,” she told him, tucking the book under one arm and reaching for her coat.  “Then I’d love to have a look.  Do you know where I might find Arniel?”

“At this time of day he’s usually in the Arcanaeum,” Tolfdir answered.  “Day after tomorrow you said?  I was intending to take the other students there first thing that morning. You should join us.”

* * *

“I’ve never seen anything like this in Nordic ruins before.” Tolfdir announced, looking upwards.  “Why just look at all those coffins!”

Alexa glanced up, in the same direction Tolfdir was looking, at the only domed ceiling1 she’d seen in Skyrim.  Her stomach turn over and she quickly looked away.  This was wrong.  At the very least a “vault of heaven”2 ceiling formed from caskets was simply _not_ the way things were supposed to work.  It was inversion at its creepiest and – even without the Psijic’s warning – indicated something very, very, _wrong_ had been happening in Saarthal.  Not that the skeletons and decorative skulls displayed just outside hadn’t been rather suggestive of the same thing, but this indicated a greater theological distortion than simple necromantic decorative sensibilities.

Was this distortion from the time of Ysgramor or an addition to the location made by Jyrik Gauldurson? she wondered.

Two false dead ends to get even this far only proved that someone had gone through a lot of effort to cover up whatever this was.  Then there was the layers and layers of warding magic.  In Alexa’s experience there were two reasons you put up layers of warding magic, to make a vault or to make a prison, and, taking the dead ends into consideration, Saarthal was looking a lot more like a prison than a vault. Still, she was pretty certain she knew who, if not what, was in the basement3 but that alone couldn’t explain what she was seeing.

“This is really not good,” she muttered to herself.

“What?” Tolfdir asked.

Alexa pointed up. “That’s not Atmoran, or Snow Elf, or Dwemer, or Dovah, and I’ve seen nothing like it in Skyrim’s other ancient ruins.  So where, conceptually, did it come from?”

“Well I’m certain I have no idea!” Tolfdir exclaimed, excitement showing in his voice.  “But it bears closer inspection.  I’d like to stay a while and examine this.  You, however, should press on.  See if you can find whatever this vision of yours mentioned.”

Not a vision, Alexa thought to herself as she pulled the chains on either side of the gate.  The Psijic had used a time slowing technique – the effects of which would have been obvious to anyone conversant with the Slow Time Shout – combined with a form of projection, possibly into her head rather than into reality, which, while impressive, was _not_ an idea Alexa was comfortable with.  “If you’re so concerned about it,” she whispered to herself, descending the stairs on the far side of the gate,4 maybe you should come deal with it yourselves?”  Neither Tolfdir, nor her apparent mysterious order of Altmer observers responded.  “Altmer,” she muttered, prepping a sunhallowed arrow.  “You know, if the _entire_ rest of the world finds your condescension frustrating, maybe the reason really is you and not _everyone_ else?”

* * *

Alexa did not, as the Archmage had suggested, go to see Urag for information on the orb.  There were three other apprentices who, when they got back, would be perfectly capable of spending some time in the library.  She, on the other hand, was halfway to panicking and would be of no use to anyone until she’d calmed down and had a conversation with Paarthurnax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Having stared at this ceiling, in-game, for several minutes I am uncertain as to whether this room is supposed to have a domed ceiling or whether the room is the bottom level of a hollow, underground, tower. So I’ve had Alexa, at first glance, assume the first, but further examination will reveal it is the second, so that I can address both possibilities.
> 
> 2 IRL constructing a ceiling to look like it’s covered in stars is not uncommon especially in domed architecture (religious or not). What has happened at Saarthal is that un-dead bodies (since the caskets are the black ones used for draugr) have been placed where there should – logically – be stars. I cannot overstate how very disturbing this is from a TES lore standpoint as it is symbolically replacing immortality with un-death in the structure of the universe.  
> Image: “Ceiling Comparison” ([link](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48088649151_3fb08211e5_b.jpg))
> 
> 3 Alexa has already completed Folgunthur and Geirmund’s Hall and so is pretty certain Jyrik Gauldurson is in Saarthal somewhere.
> 
> 4 When you approach the door you are facing north but when you pass through, after the load screen, you are facing east (see pictures, [link](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48123585758_c0a8e1ee3b_b.jpg)). The ruin then continues in, generally the opposite direction from which you came. Fictionally a spiral staircase seemed like the best way to handle these shenanigans but, realistically, Bethesda wasn’t always careful about how well their underground cells fit together.


	13. The Logic of the Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Addressing several questions and raising a few new ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore and theory heavy chapter.  
> This chapter took sooo much work.
> 
> Late Winter, 4E 202

“I understand why you like it up here,” Alexa began, looking out over the world beneath them, her back against the northwest side of Paarthurnax’s word wall.  “It is blessedly removed from everything happening below.  Almost a different world.”

“Are you hiding from something, Iizkaandraal?” the dragon asked from his seat above her.

“Perhaps.”  Silence stretched between them only broken by the whistling of the wind around the mountain’s peak.  “Are you going to tell me that the dov do not hide from their troubles?” she wondered finally.

“No.  Not I,” he snorted.  “We who avoided extermination at the hands of the Akaviri were the ones who hid.  Still, fate is a thing from which even we cannot hide.”

Alexa glanced up at him. “Why _did_ the Akaviri come to Tamriel?”

“They came here to hunt dragons.”

“Why?” Alexa blinked in surprise.  “The remains of Alduin’s dragon cult was no threat to Akavir, how did they even know about it?”

“They didn’t.  The tsaesci can, to an extent, _become_ what they eat.1 In the beginning they ate man, became man-like in form, and learned the use of tools and magic.  As time wore on they ate dragons and became immortal.  So we left and, eventually, they followed.”

She considered that for a while.  “The Bend Will Shout that Miraak uses… it is Akaviri in origin?”

Paarthurnax cocked his head so that he was looking directly down at her.  “What makes you think that?”

“Hermeaus Mora does not create knowledge, It hordes it.  Which means the Shout had to be in use somewhere before Mora could teach it to Miraak. But if it had been known in Skyrim surely the Dragon War would not have been as long as it was…

“I once read that the Tsaesci had ‘enslaved the Red Dragons’2,” she continued.  “Confusing as their memories told me that only dragons can compel other dragons to obey.  But that was before I knew of the Bend Will Shout or that the tsaesci could ‘become’ what they ate.  I am sure the memories will now fill in the gaps.”

Paarthurnax grinned at her.  “You truly have the mind of a jill.  That is _exactly_ what happened.  But… I do not think you came all this way to speak with me about the men of Akavir.”

She acknowledged this with a slight nod.  “You, and the Greybeards, have shown yourselves capable of passing me very specific pieces of information meaning that you can choose what I absorb from you.  Is there a way for _me_ to choose what I absorb?”

Paarthurnax gave her a curious look.

“Someday I may have defeated Alduin but find myself still at odds with a dragon.  On that day I might wish to defeat him but not burden myself with all his soul.  Or, perhaps, the day will come when I require a specific piece of knowledge but do not wish to absorb an entire soul to learn it.”

“This can be taught,” Paarthurnax agreed.  “Though it will take some time.”

She nodded, not surprised. “I have a few errands to run before I can devote myself to an extended period of study…  Truthfully I had planned to do them before coming here.”

“What made you change your plans?” Paarthurnax asked, concern in his voice.

Alexa fidgeted uncomfortably.  “Do you know anything about an orb buried beneath Saarthal?”

“No,” he replied somberly. “The magic I sense in Saarthal is strange to me.  I know only that it is a thing out of place.”

“I see.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know why but… it scares me.”

“Do you fear it as joor or as dov?” he asked, his voice low and resonating.

“I… don’t know,” she answered, tiredly. 

“The Dragon Cult never rebuilt Saarthal,” Paarthurnax noted thoughtfully.  “Our kind always found the area… disquieting.  Perhaps you have been given the chance to discover the cause?”

“Perhaps,” she agreed.

“Where do the Greybeards send you next?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Ancient’s Ascent,” she answered before changing the subject herself.  “Do you know how many dragonborn have absorbed as many dragon souls as I have?”

“Only one other,” Paarthurnax replied. 

“But there are legends…” she objected.

“The Akaviri heard the stories the Nords still told of Miraak and assumed his ‘theft of power’ was like that of the tsaesci’s: real but not observable.  Since, in Akavir, only the tsaesci who had consumed a dragon had learned to Shout, they believed anyone who could Shout must be of dovah-sos. Eventually those men of Akavir who remained learned that all men could become masters of the Voice.”

“But the legends that attributed Miraak’s power-absorption abilities to Reman Cyrodiil persisted,” Alexa nodded, understanding.  “So Miraak is the only other one?”

“At one point Talos could have…” Paarthurnax answered carefully.  “But his contact with the shezzarians rendered him incapable of such a thing even before he became emperor.  Eventually even his dragon voice was lost to him.”

That took Alexa a moment to digest.  “Are you suggesting Tiber Septim slit his own throat to hid the fact that his continuing absorption of Lorkahn’s essence had left him unable to Shout?” she finally demanded, aghast.

“No,” Paarthurnax hedged. “Rather I am telling you that the thu’um depends on one’s ability to focus one’s vital energy not on the ability speak loudly.”3

“So the damage to his throat should not have left him unable to use the thu’um?”

“I have always believed that it was Talos’ becoming a shezzarian oversoul that finally took his thu’um from him,” Paarthurnax admitted.

“How?” she asked.  “Is absorbing the soul of a god really so different from absorbing the soul of a dragon?”

“Lorkahn is not like other gods,” the dragon replied.  “And no, the soul of a dragon is not exactly like the soul of a god.”

“So it really is just the first and the last dragonborn,” Alexa whispered.  “We’re it?  The only dovah oversouls?”

“Miraak was to walk the path you now tread: to face and defeat Alduin.  Of all dovah you and he are set apart by this,” Paarthurnax confirmed.

“Why?”

The dragon above her shifted his weight uncomfortably.  “Alduin is _unique_ among the dov,” Paarthurnax explained.  “He can increase the strength of his thu’um, not just by draining the life-force from living mortals, but by consuming the sillesejoor, the souls of mortal dead, specifically those slain in battle.”

She held up a finger her brow furrowed in contemplation.  Paarthurnax paused, looking quizzically down at her.  “The souls Alduin consumes… is his consumption of them an act of neumolysis?  Do they cease to exist?”

“They are un-made, just as the souls of the dragons you absorb are.  They will not return in this, or any other, kalpa.”

Alexa looked up at him in horror.

Paarthurnax hummed in acknowledgement of her dismay but continued with his explanation.  “You are, as Mirrak is, Alduin’s inverse in this: a joor who consumes the souls of dead dovah.  Dovah killed in combat.  This is no accident.  It is the way of our world that only a thing’s inverse can remove it from the Pattern.”

“Remove him from the Pattern?” she whispered.  “But that would make this kalpa endless, wouldn’t it?”

“Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  Alduin is as much a manifestation of the dinoksetiid - Time’s Death - as he is dov.  I doubt killing its avatar will end the existence of such a force.

Alexa pondered that in silence for a while.  “Do all things have a inverse?” she asked finally.

“No,” he answered. “Most things only have a _converse._   Having an inverse is exceptionally rare.  Enough so that, in your case, a god had to intervene in order for you to be.”

Silence stretched between them again and then she asked, “If Akatosh is the manifestation of Time’s birth and his converse, Alduin, is a manifestation of the Time’s death what am I who am Alduin’s inverse?”

“Logic dictates you are a manifestation of tiidunahzaal, time unending.”

“And Talos, what was he?”

“He was, and is, the tiidunslaad,” Paarthurnax answered.

Alexa frowned.  “Those mean the same thing, don’t they?”4

The dragon snorted in amusement.  “It may seem so, but it is not.  The one is the obverse of the other – two sides of the same coin.  Evgiir unslaad, ‘season unending’, was once our way of denoting the natural state of jul – war – while, evgiir unahzaal, was how we indicated the natural state of the fahliil – political machination.  Both describe the continuous conflict that is the natural state of joor but the connotation is different.”

“You are saying that Talos has become the Manifest Metaphor of the constant battle to… what?”

“Maintain the balance of forces such that Creation may continue to exist,” Paarthurnax replied. “He as drake and, perhaps, you as jill, two sides of the same force, but where he could only bring suleyksejun – domination – over the warring forces, perhaps you may bring a more subtle mulaag to bear?  Perhaps this is why you are not just jill but a healer as well?”

“… If I defeat Alduin.”

“If you defeat Alduin,” he agreed.

“If absorb Alduin’s soul, is there not the possibility that I will loose myself the way the dragonborn that was Talos did when he became a shezzarian oversoul?”

There was an awkward silence between them.  “It is possible,” the dragon finally acknowledged.  “Though the situation is somewhat different.  Lorkahn had been dead long enough that the Arubis had already compensated for his loss.  While Alduin has been _gone_ from creation, he was never dead.  His place in the cosmic structure remains.  It is possible that destroying a particular manifestation of daan – doom – that is Alduin will not leave the energy of the dinoksetiid free to be absorbed by you but see it transferred to another avatar.”5

“That is why, when a dragonborn reconstituted Lorkahn, the resulting, combined, entity took Trinimac’s place in the Arubis, not Lorkahn’s…6” Alexa whispered, stunned.

Paarthurnax chuckled. “You are a joy to speak with, Iizkaandraal.”

She was quite for several minutes.  “Am I still mortal?” she finally asked.

Paarthurnax cocked his head at her startled.  “Why do you ask this?”

“The dragon souls I have absorbed…” she began quietly.  “I can feel myself changing.  Not just the new knowledge or the increased ability to shout, it is more than that.  And Miraak has been alive a very long time.”

“Hmmm,” Paarthurnax hummed low in his chest as he contemplated her question.  “I suppose it is possible that our immortality would be conferred upon you, as it was with the tsaesci,” he allowed.  “Though, since you and Miraak are the only two examples of dov oversouls, as you would have it, in history, I cannot be certain.  But it seems safe to assume that, should you die of old age, it will be a very long time from now.”

“But absorbing dragon souls _is_ changing me, isn’t it?” Alexa pressed.  “Beyond the simple knowledge and power I’ve acquired.”

“In what way?” Paarthurnax asked curiously.

“I worry that I am becoming a different person,” she confided.  “That, like Talos, I may lose myself to the things I have absorbed.”

“And what makes you think this?” the dragon prodded.

“It is hard to say exactly. I mean, if my personality really were changing, would I really notice?  And yet… I have recently realized that I am less cautious – less secretive – than I once was.  Yet the number of threats to my life have only increased as have the things I might wish to keep secret.”

“You are stronger than you once were,” he pointed out.  “Perhaps you are simply less afraid?”

“But does that loss of fear come from a real change in my circumstances or from becoming increasingly like the dovah I’ve absorbed?  Is their pride leading me to endanger myself?”

Paarthurnax blew thoughtfully through his nose.  “Even if you are jill, as I suspect, you are still dov.  Absorbing other dov, even if they are drake, should not have the same affect upon you as absorbing a god had upon Talos.  Whether it will have a lesser affect… I cannot say.”

She nodded again, to show she had understood, but fell back into silence.  Paarthurnax waited, patiently, for her next question.  “What do you know of Miraak?” she asked eventually.

“Very little,” he replied. “I was otherwise occupied during his rise and fall.  I do know that many dragons were felled, and consumed, by him at the start of the Dragon War.  The power he gained from them allowed him to rival even myself.  But he was lead astray before his path met its conclusion…” he paused, humming again in thought.  “You should know that Miraak’s existence in Nirn, like your own, is tied to Alduin’s.  With Alduin’s return he will not be far behind.”

“He already attempts his return, in Solstheim,” she told him.  “Not sure why he keeps trying to kill _me_ though.”

“Even as two things cannot fill the same physical space, so too they cannot have the same fate,” Paarthurnax told her.  “Your existence, in this plane, prevents his return to it.”

“But we have existed within Apocrypha at the same time,” she disagreed. 

“Physically?”

“No… I guess not.  Even if it feels as though I am there I’m told part of my body remains here…”

Paarthurnax fixed her with one large eye.  “You will have to deal with him before you can face Alduin.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I fear learning the knowledge that lead him astray and the motives of the one who taught him and now offers the same knowledge to me.”

The dragon considered her for a long moment.  “Have you too made a pact with one of the princes?”

“I am a champion of Azura, Sheogorath and Meridia, a Beast Master of Hircine and, divines help me, the wife of Prince Sanguine.”

Paarthurnax made a small coughing noise.  “You _married_ one?”

“He looked human at the time!  Said his name was Sam.  And we were very, very, drunk.”

“In all my years I never thought Sanguine would marry,” Paarthurnax smirked.

“He keeps giving me things,” Alexa groaned.  “First it was the Sanguine Rose, but that seemed fairly typical.  Then the food items in my pack kept getting swapped out for alcohol and sweets.  Then he decided I wasn’t taking care of myself and so assigned a dremora butler to look after me.  I had no idea it was possible for dremora to be both stuffy and pompous.  Oh and, if the contents of my wardrobe are any indication, his highness seems to enjoy procuring _outfits_ for me as if I were some sort of doll!  Then there’s the hair color – it’s actually growing in purple! – I…” she threw her hands in the air.

Paarthurnax snorted and then made a funny little chic-chicing noise that might have been suppressed dragon laughter.  “The trials of the young are endlessly entertaining,” he observed after a moment.

Alexa glared at the dragon out of the corner of one eye.  “On the scale of ridiculously old to mind numbingly ancient, I think Sanguine probably has a few years on even you,” she pointed out.

“True, but while one is only young once he is proof one can stay immature indefinitely,” Paarthurnax told her, grinning as only a dragon could.

Alexa opened her mouth to deny that and then closed it again with a snap.  “Why do I feel the sudden need to defend him?” she asked a little plaintively.  “It’s not like I really wanted to marry a daedric prince.”

“Has he been good to you thus far?”

“You mean in the six months we’ve been married?  Yeah, in a weird way, I guess he has.”

“Good.  You are my sister.  I would be displeased if it were otherwise.”

“He says he likes me the way I am and that he will not allow the others to change me,” she murmured.

“Vahzah, you are lucky to have such an ally.  Perhaps you should speak to _him_ about your fears regarding the intentions of his un-sibling?”

Alexa blinked at the elderly dragon in surprise.  That option had, strangely enough, not occurred to her.  “I believe I will, thank you for the advice.”  She glanced up at the sky.  “It is getting late, I should probably get going.”

“Su’um ahrk morah, briinah,” Paarthurnax rumbled.  “Return when you have time and we will begin the next stage of your training.”

“Su’um ahrk morah, zeymah,” Alexa bowed slightly to the elderly dragon and began her descent from the peak of the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 The Tsaesci Creation Myth: We Ate It to Become It ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/tsaesci-creation-myth-and-we-ate-it-become-it))
> 
> 2 Mysterious Akavir
> 
> 3 “Quiet Casting” muffles the sound of Shouts but not their functionality. Also, draugr shout, and their throats are not in good condition. 
> 
> 4 **Unahzaal:** _Unending/Ceaseless/Eternal_. Found on the word wall for Kyne’s Peace, “Kaan”.  
>  **Unslaad:** _Unending/Ceaseless/Eternal_. Found on the word wall for Battle Fury, “Mid”.
> 
> 5 Logically Alduin’s black dragon form isn’t any more the real body for the force he represents than Sam Guevenne is Sanguine’s. Alduin is just an avatar that’s been around since the period of Manifest Metaphors, meaning it is really old, and may very well be the first physical manifestation of the "End of Time", but that doesn’t make it the only one. Consider, for instance, the possible 5th Era event of “Landfall” – the return of the Numidium to Real Time – and the resulting destruction of Nirn. ([link](https://elderscrolls.fandom.com/wiki/Landfall)) Has not the Numidium, in this situation, taken the place of Alduin? And, given the 3rd Walking Way, is not filling something’s place in the Arubic structure the same as _being_ that thing?
> 
> 6 For clarification on this see my notes on Talos in my Elder Scrolls Lore series ([link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17535269/chapters/43693346))


	14. Vex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while since the last time Alexa visited the Guild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late Winter, 4E 202

“I... I can’t believe it,” Sapphire murmured, reading Glover’s letter.  “All those years on the farm, and my mother never told me about any of this…”  She gave Alexa a slightly watery smile.  “Words can’t even begin to describe how much I appreciate you bringing this to me.  Here,” she fumbled in a pocket and pulled out a particularly beautiful sapphire, “take this.  I used to carry it for good luck, but I...”

Alexa smiled at her. “I’ll have Medessi set it for me. That way I can remember my friend when I wear it.”

Sapphire blushed slightly. “I, uh, need to go talk to Delvin about this,” she muttered and then glanced in the direction of the Guild Master’s desk.  “You okay?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Alexa told her.  “I still remember the way out.”

* * *

“It seems the dragonborn graces us with her presence,” Brynjolf noted, as she approached, without looking up from his books.

Alexa stiffened, suddenly uncertain.  She’d thought, after her last visit, that they were past this.

Brynjolf glanced up, met her eyes, and grinned.  “I’m just pulling your chain, lass,” he chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “It’s been a while.”

Alexa let the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding out slowly.  “Don’t do that.  I have enough trouble in my life without my friends being jerks.”

“Well then you may want to rethink who you call friend,” he told her, glancing meaningfully around the room.  “How have you been?  The College of Winterhold treating you well?

“It’s a place to stay that doesn’t care about my status as dragonborn, or what I’m doing with my time, and can handle the occasional dragon attack,” she answered.  “It serves its purpose.”

“That’s not a glowing recommendation, lass,” Brynjolf noted dryly.  “Is being a legend not making you happy?”

Alexa paused, thinking back on the last few times she could remember being happy – not just excited, or interested, but actually relaxed and enjoying herself – and found, to her slight surprise, that Sanguine figured in more than half of them.  “No,” she replied.  “But it was never likely to.  My marriage though hasn’t been so bad.”

“Well that’s good to hear at least.”  He glanced in the direction of the Ragged Flagon.  “Whatever you gave Sapphire seems to have had an impact.  Was there a reason you came all the way down here when you could, just as easily, have met her in the tavern later?”

“Are you suggesting the dragonborn might have _business_ with the Thieves’ Guild?” Alexa enquired archly.  Brynjolf didn’t take the bait.  She smiled.  “I was talking to a mutual friend at the college and noticed that his inventory was looking a little bare…”

Brynjolf nodded.  “Our shipments are having a harder time making it that far north.  With the Stormcloaks holding Fort Kastav we can’t send anything by cart.  Having to move everything by courier has substantially increased the cost of keeping him supplied.”

“There have been Stormcloaks at Fort Kastav for a while now,” Alexa pointed out.  “What’s changed?”

“Rumor has it Ulfric’s pockets are not as deep as they once were.1  Add to that the trouble the East Empire Company is having with pirates…” he shrugged.  “Clan Shatter-Shield can’t make up the difference, even if they’re getting rich trying.”

“So the Stormcloaks that rely on Windhelm for their supplies have turned brigand,” Alexa concluded for him.

“It’s not like it’s the first time,” Brynjolf reminded her.  “You’ll recall they played at banditry in the Reach, for a while, until the Foresworn got things figured out.  I haven’t heard of them intercepting any _official_ shipments meant for the college, yet.”

“Meaning you expect it’s just a matter of time,” Alexa sighed.

“Even Stormcloaks need to eat, lass.”

“So does the College.”

“Then the Arch-Mage had better figure out which he’s more afraid of, politics or starvation,” Brynjolf told her.

“Speaking of which, you have any idea what may have happened to a courier of Enthir’s coming from Morrowind?”

Brynjolf shook his head. “I don’t, but I was out of town for a while.  You might have better luck asking one of the others.”

* * *

Passing back through the Ragged Flaggon Alexa was surprised when Vex kicked a chair out for her. “Sit,” the woman commanded.

Suddenly wary Alexa complied.

“I assume you aware of what Enthir has been giving Karliah?” Vex stated.

“I am.”

“Good, saves time explaining,” the other woman muttered.  “Did you also know that, if the stones were remounted on the crown, it would be of great benefit to the Thieves Guild?”

“I did not,” Alexa replied politely still confused as to where this was going.

“The crown is what the Guild calls a paragon; an object that enhances our thieving abilities,” Vex explained.  “At least, that’s what I’m told it does... there hasn’t been a paragon in this Guild for hundreds of years.”

“… Alright.”

Vex frowned reprovingly at her.  “I have it on good authority that the crown is within Tolvald's Cave; dropped by a Dunmer caravan leaving Morrowind long ago.  If you get it for us, and given that Enthir manages to find the last few stones, the Guild can restore the paragon... and reap its benefits.”

“Why ask me?” Alexa enquired.  “I’m not a guild member.”

“The Guild needs that paragon; without it, we’re just a bunch of petty thieves,” Vex told her.  “And because, if you do, I just might forgive you for leaving.

“What?”  Vex snapped, responding to the startled look on Alexa’s face.  “There aren’t enough tough, smart, chicks around here to lose one simply because sleeping with the new Guild Master didn’t work out.”

“Wow,” Alexa murmured. “Way to oversimplify a rather complicated period of time.”

“Whatever,” Vex grumbled. “It’s not like the Guild saved your life or anything.”

Alexa leaned back in her chair and considered the woman across the table from her.  It had never occurred to her before that Vex might like or respect her (as much as Vex was capable of either feeling).  “Speaking of shipments from Morrowind, and Enthir, you wouldn’t have any idea where a courier of his might have run into trouble?”

The corner of Vex’s mouth lifted in a slight smile as she recognized Alexa’s question for the offer it was.  “Some bandits have moved into Broken Helm Hollow,” Vex answered, still sounding grouchy. “I’d start there.”

“Thank you.  I’ll see what I can do about the crown, next time I’m in the right area.”

“Good.  Now go away.”

Alexa didn’t move. “One last thing, you don’t happen to know how much Enthir’s charging Karliah for the stones, do you?”

Vex gave her a sharp look. “My understanding is that he’s giving them to her for free.”

Alexa blinked in actual surprise.  “Wow. He must like her more than I thought,” she murmured.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I charged him more than two hundred gold a piece for the ones I found,” Alexa replied.

Vex gave her a wide-eyed look of surprise.  Enthir was even more infamous than Tonila when it came to never giving a discount. Alexa smiled and pushed away from the table leaving Vex in contemplative silence. 

* * *

_Three days later…_

“You know, I think we’re being followed,” Marcurio hissed as they exited Bonechill Passage.

“I’d noticed.  I’m actually a little surprised they were willing to follow us into an obvious troll den,” Alexa whispered back.

“You think they’re know about that Dwemer knife?”

Alexa shook her head. “Dragon ahead,” she warned, gesturing for the dogs to stay where they were, just before they rounded the corner.

“It’s _sleeping_?” Marcurio hissed incredulously.

“It would seem so.  You stay out of its sight with the dogs.  I’m going to see if I can read the word wall without waking it.”

“If it so much as twitches, I’m throwing lightning at it,” he informed her.

“Fair.”

“What do you want me to do if the people tailing us catch up to me while you’re gone?”

“Take the dogs off stay, scream like a little girl, and defend yourself,” she replied, charging an invisibility spell in one hand and a muffle spell in the other.

Marcurio pulled a face at her but, since Alexa was already invisible, she pretended not to notice.

* * *

Alexa did manage to make it to the word wall without waking the dragon.  Absorbing the power from the inscription though was a different story. The three Thalmor Justiciars waited until after Alexa had absorbed the dragon’s soul before attacking only to find themselves beset by a troll they’d apparently missed and a handful of frostbite spiders summoned by the dragonborn’s thu’um and the first two words of the Animal Allegiance shout.  It was, Alexa reflected as she knelt beside the bodies with Marcurio, a somewhat less glorious ending to their lives than the Justiciars had probably been expecting.

Marcurio squinted at a piece of paper he’d taken off one of the Justiciars.  “Seems like that trouble you’ve been worried about has finally caught up with you,” he said, holding it out to her.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, after she’d finished reading it.

“I don’t know,” she answered softly.  “Until I’m done here I can’t just disappear again, and this clearly isn’t official… I suppose I could bring it to General Tullius’ attention, but I don’t know if he could do anything about it either.  The Thalmor would, in all likelihood, simply find a scapegoat to blame this on and then hire someone more competent.  There may also be something to be gained by pretending continued ignorance …  I’ll have to think about it.”

“ _Right_ ,” Marcurio returned, snidely.  “Because leveraging the fact that someone’s trying to assassinate you is…” he caught himself.  “Well, no, it’s an _extremely_ Breton thing to do, but what happened to keeping a low-profile, Lexi?” he demanded worriedly.

“I breath fire now,” she replied dismissively, putting the order in her pack.

“That doesn’t do a lot against ranged attacks,” he pointed out.

Alexa chuckled and shook her head.  “I meant it makes it hard to keep a low profile.”  She sighed, turning her attention to looting the other Justiciars. “It may be that I have reached the point that the only way to protect myself is to prove that I am a power to be taken more seriously than this.”

“I don’t think the Thalmor are going to be particularly impressed by some fire breathing,” Marcurio muttered.

“You are right.  They, likely, will respond most favorably to a show of _political_ power,” she agreed.

Marcurio arched an eyebrow at that.  “And how do you intend to do that?”

“I have some thoughts,” she answered, beginning to strip the bodies.  “But I’m not yet ready to share them.”

“And this idea requires Thalmor robes, does it?” Marcurio demanded.

“No,” she replied inspecting the first one for size and battle-damage.  “The robs are just for fun.”

Marcurio gave her a _look_.  “If you say so.  Who am I to ick your yum?”

Alexa choked hard enough that it was nearly a full minute before she had her breathing back under control.  “ _Marc!_ ”

“Sorry,” he grinned a little ruefully, “I didn’t mean to nearly kill you.”

“Stendaar have mercy,” she gasped, taking deep breaths as Meeko and Krin nosed worriedly at her. “No.  To whatever perversion your dirty Imperial mind just came up with, _no_.  I have an idea for a prank.  These will help.”

“Because advertising that you killed three Justiciars is _such_ a good idea,” Marcurio grumbled.

“ _I_ didn’t kill them.  A troll and some frostbite spiders did.”

He rolled his eyes at that and then looked back towards the word wall.  “So, what’s next?”

“Next is delivering an amulet to the cemetery in Falkreath,” Alexa replied closing up her pack.  “After that, retrieving a book from Shriekwind Bastion, then there is plucking a briar seed from a man’s chest, for science, re-forging an ancient amulet, and retrieving a manuscript from a ruin the name of which suggests it will be full of hagravens.”

Marcurio blinked once. “Any briarheart or a particular briarheart?”

“Any should do.  I believe there’s a briarheart still in charge at Red Eagle Redoubt.  I think I can get his heart, without killing anyone else, by approaching the redoubt from Sundered Towers.”

Marcurio sighed and hefted his pack.  “Try not to walk into any spike-filled pits or filthy skeever dens.”

Alexa rolled her eyes. “Why do you always say that?  I have never, not once, walked you into a spike-filled pit.”

“Because it annoys you,” Marcurio replied smugly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Unseating the Silver-Bloods, in Act 1, has had consequences.


	15. Heart's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who forgot it was Heart’s Day…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 16th of Sun’s Dawn (Late Winter), 4E 202

“Do you have any idea what day it is?” a deep, slightly petulant, voice demanded as Alexa slipped the remade Gauldur amulet around her neck.

She froze and then slumped slightly when she remembered.  “Heart’s Day?” she asked, turning around to face the daedric prince standing behind her.

“Right.  It’s my summoning day and my wife is fighting dead people,” the daedric prince complained. 

“Oops?” Alexa asked hopefully.

“I suppose I should have expected this when I married a champion of Meridia,” he sighed.  Then something occurred to him and his eyes narrowed.  “You weren’t hoping to avoid your husband, or that Altmer of yours, by spending the day in a tomb, _were you_?”

“No?”

“Good, we’ve got a busy day ahead of us!”

“Um, traveling companion and dogs?” Alexa said, indicating Marcurio – who was standing by the door with his mouth open – Meeko and Krin.

“Don’t worry about us, we’ll just go back to Old Hroldan and wait for you there!” Marcurio announced hurriedly, grabbing the dogs by their armor and made a break for it.

“Coward!” she called after him.

Sanguine smirked after the retreating mage and then turned back to her.  “I thought we’d start with a luncheon party in Anvil,” he informed her affably.  “They’re almost done with the summoning ritual already… You’re not going to wear your armor to the party, are you?”

“You’re wearing _your_ armor,” she pointed out.

Sanguine groaned in annoyance.  There was a spiral of purple light and her dremora butler was standing beside them with a pile of flame red silk in his arms.

“I fear, my lord, that the dress you have chosen simply will not go with the current color of my lady’s hair,” the dremora intoned reprovingly.

“Fine, fine, I’ll fix it!” the daedric prince waved his hands.  “There… mountain flower red goes quite well with the dress, I think.”

“Is the intent for me to die of cold?” Alexa asked, inspecting the dress she was suddenly wearing. It was made of shifting layers of gossamer silk held together by a few – very expensive looking – bits of jewelry.

The dremora butler gave his lord an “I told you so” look.

“You won’t have to worry about that once we get there,” Sanguine assured her, ignoring the dremora.

“Subtle,” Alexa commented, finally noticing that Sanguine had also exchanged his armor for clothing. He was now dressed in a pair of tight, low cut, leather pants of a red that exactly matched his dremora markings. It looked _good_ but was not a particularly _restrained_ display of his inhuman physique.  “Though I’m a little surprised you’re not going naked.”

“I – now we – _preside_ over Heart’s Day.  You know, get things going, instigate a few pranks on people who aren’t in the right mood, that sort of thing,” Sanguine informed her.  “We won’t have the time to take part in the revelries ourselves.  Well, not until we’ve already visited _all_ the parties that summon me… and assuming you don’t run off in the middle of everything to kill something that’s already dead.”

“Is that an option?” she asked, accepting the arm he held out to her.

“Not usually… but, with you around, who can say?”

* * *

 It was just past midnight but the party, lit by fire-rafts floating in the waters of the oasis, was still in full swing.  In the darkness, a couple hundred yards away, seated on a spire of rock that protruded about twenty feet above the sand, Alexa removed her sandals and let them drop away, unseen, into the darkness below.  It was odd to realize how used to the brilliant colors of Skyrim’s shifting aurora’s she’d become and how very dark the night was without them.  Just then, as if to remind her exactly how far from the frozen land she was, a dry breeze blew off the desert softly ruffling her skirts. She shivered slightly.  Even this far south it was still winter.

“Heart’s Day’s is over,” Sanguine announced, softly, handing her half of the fruit he’d just peeled.

“Why’d you bring me?” Alexa asked dreamily accepting the fruit.  “Wouldn’t it have been more fun for you without your wife around?”

“Fun?” Sanguine gave her a surprised look and then grinned.  “That’s surprisingly human of you.”

“What is?”

“Thinking that summoning days are the days a daedric prince gets to run around having fun…”

“Are they not?”

He shook his head. “Our summoning days are the one day a year we actually have to _work_ for our worshipers.  Only think what might happen if I _didn’t_ make an appearance at dozens of parties today.  People might begin to wonder, then forget and misconstrue. Fail to show up for long enough and my worshipers would become as confused about _me_ as they are about Akatosh/Auriel/Alkosh etc. etc.”

“Well that certainly wouldn’t do,” she agreed, laughing softly.  “Figuring out which one I was married to would be far too confusing for my poor mortal mind.”

“Having you with me today was good.  We actually made it to every party I’d planned.”

“You’re welcome.  It’s not like _I_ had anything to do today.”

“Not even saving the world?” he enquired, grinning.

She shrugged.  “My husband tells me I need to take time off every now and then.”

“Speaking of which,” he turned to more fully face her, “I’m told the dragon memories are preventing you from getting enough sleep.”

“Were you also told how I’ve been attempting to solve that problem?” she enquired, carefully.

“I understand your new traveling companion has been quite helpful.  I approve. Of course, I’d also approve if you two were doing more than just sharing a bed.”

Alexa rolled her eyes. “Is making life more complicated than necessary considered ‘debauchery’ these days?”

“It’s usually more of an interesting side effect,” Sanguine chuckled.  “But it keeps Mephala aligned with my interests so…” he shrugged.

“Speaking of complicating one’s life, won’t formally acknowledging your wife affect your worshiper’s perception of you?” she asked, quickly moving the conversation away from Mephala. “Isn’t there some chance it could change you?”

“I’ll be fine.  Being married hasn’t stopped me from showing up, in various other guises, on other days, same as always.”  He paused for a moment, looking down at the ongoing revelry a little ways off.  “Their belief is more likely to change _you_ than me,” he admitted.  “And, possibly, create an _us_. We’ll see what the ones who can still remember anything in the morning decided to believe.”

“An us?”

“All relationships are combinations of the people involved in them,” he answered.

“You’re saying someone might worship _our relationship_?”

He laughed at that. “More likely worship me, as I am without you around, and – separately – as the person I am when we’re together,” he explained.1 “Which, by extension, is worshiping you.”

“Oh.  Good.  That couldn’t cause me any trouble,” she muttered.

He took her chin between his fingers and looked her over carefully before lightly brushing the shadow under her eyes with a finger.  “As for the sleep thing, I _can_ help you know.”

“I thought granting wishes was more Vile’s sort of thing.”

“My realm of influence is somewhat greater than most realize,” Sanguine admitted.  “If it is a pleasure one will choose over self-preservation it lies within my sphere.”

“And sleep falls into that category?”

“It does.2  Even if I find it to be the _least_ interesting thing one can do in a bed.”

* * *

Somewhere in Oblivion Sanguine settled in beside her.  “I thought you found sleep uninteresting,” Alexa remarked.

“I do.  But I enjoy being close to you.  Sleep, my dear.  I promise you the dragon’s memories shall not bother you here.”

“Sanguine?”

“Yes?”

“You were right about Ondolemar.”

“I know.  We can talk about it when you wake, along with all the other questions you’ve been saving up to ask me.”

“Why a dremora?”

“Hmm?”

“A projection of your mind could take any form, right?”

“Yes.”

“So why choose a dremora?”

“High tolerance for alcohol, impressive stamina, striking appearance… also – since most mortals believe all dremora are sworn to Dagon – it annoys Dagon to the point of apoplexy. Would you prefer some other form?”

“No,” she replied sleepily. “I’ve become quite fond of this one.”

* * *

“Good morning, my dear,” Sanguine greeted her affably from somewhere on the other side of the rather nebulous space.  He appeared to be wearing nothing but an apron that said something in daedric across the front.  Alexa chose not to translate it.

“I thought you might like some breakfast before returning to Tamriel,” Sanguine explained, gesturing to a table of breakfast adjacent food.

Even from the bed Alexa could smell that the eggs were burned.  It was oddly endearing.  Slipping on the blue robe she found hanging from the bedpost Alexa joined her husband at the table.

“You had questions?” Sanguine asked with an expectant look on his face.

“Am I still mortal, can you tell?” she asked, around her first bite of sweet roll.

“You can still be killed, but you are no longer affected by the passage of time,” he replied.

She blinked a few times at that.  “Oh.”

“Does this upset you?” he enquired, sounding a little surprised.

“It is… unexpected,” she admitted.  “But I’m sure I’ll adjust to the idea, eventually.  How long has Mora been grooming me to take Miraak’s place?”

“I don’t really know,” Sanguine answered.  “But I know that they were already involved in your life when we met.  Has it become a problem?”

“That depends, I think, on how it works out in the end,” she answered carefully.  “I’d rather not end up insane or… like Miraak.  Speaking of whom, what do _you_ think I should do about Mora’s pet dragonborn?”

“Kill Miraak, if you can,” Sanguine advised.  “If not, see if you can’t induce Mora to do so.  As for Mora, know that nothing It can tell you, or show you, or do to you, can drive you insane without Sheogorath’s permission, which he will not give.  And, if it seems to you that Mora is about to try to entrap you in some way, summon your butler.  If you do so while in Apocrypha I will come in his place.  And, for the love of everything, keep my staff with you or, better yet, that Valkynaz it summons, not just in Apocrypha but whenever you travel to a different plane.  I cannot overstate the value your soul has to the denizens of Oblivion.  There are some situations even I might not be able to retrieve you from.”

Alexa thought about that for a moment.  “Will you answer a personal question for me?” she asked.

He gave her a slightly surprised look.

“Why did _you_ choose to become involved in my life?”

“For the same reason as the rest of my un-siblings,” he answered with a slight smirk.  “You are jill and we are the radical critique.”

“Those are Vivec’s words, not yours,” she pointed out.  “And it is not obvious to me how those two things are at all connected.”

Sanguine sobered and leaned back in his chair.  “Originally I went to Riften to recruit someone to kill that necromancer at Morvunskar.3 I approached you because you looked like someone who could get the job done.  It wasn’t until I brought you to the Misty Grove that I first got a hint that you were more than you seemed.  After that it only took a brief trip to the Void to confirm and to realize how very lucky I was to be the first, in all of Mundus, to realize _exactly_ how singular you are.”

“You took me into the realm of Sithis?” she asked feebly.

“I didn’t know about your history with his cult,” Sanguine, confided.  “Though it probably wouldn’t have stopped me.  It was the fastest way to discovering what you really were.”

“I…” she paused, “remember. You were a cloud of colored lights.”4

“Is that how you saw me?” Sanguine asked sounding surprised.  “I had wondered.”

“As fascinating as this is, you haven’t actually answered my question yet,” Alexa pointed out.

Sanguine laughed, took her hand, and drew her to him.  “I enjoy the world.  And I enjoy my time with you.  I’m afraid I didn’t consider much past that.”

Alexa laughed and kissed him softly.  “Good enough.”

Sanguine wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close.  “Shall I send you back, or would you like to spend another day with me?”

“Sadly I have a very full schedule,” she sighed.  “I was intending to retrieve one of Shalidor’s manuscripts from Dead Crone Rock today.”

“Then you should get going,” he informed her.  “A dragon will attack Markarth two days from today.  You should be there if you want that Altmer of yours to survive.”

Alexa narrowed her eyes slightly.  “Is there a reason you do not use his name?” she asked.

“My darling, if I harbored any ill will towards your would-be lover he would already be dead,” Sanguine chuckled before kissing her.

There was a strange pulling sensation and, when Alexa opened her eyes, she found herself in the main room of the Old Hroldan Inn.

“There you are,” Marcurio greeted her.  “I was wondering how long you’d be.”

Alexa sighed.  It seemed Sanguine didn’t want to answer any follow-up questions.  “You ready?” she asked Marcurio.  “It seems we have just enough time to retrieve the manuscript before saving Markarth from a dragon attack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Not uncommon in polytheism. Example: the worship of the Hindu god Shiva and his wife Parvati. Alone Shiva is worshiped as the god of protection, war, and destruction. Parvati is worshiped as the goddess of fertility, beauty, and divine strength. Together they are worshiped as the archetype of marital bliss.
> 
> 2 Sanguine is known to be allied with Vaermina.
> 
> 3 See my notes on Sanguine for a fuller explanation. ([link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17535269/chapters/43474703))
> 
> 4 A2:1


	16. The Emissary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Altmer converse with the dragonborn (Part 1 of 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore/theory heavy chapter  
> Late Winter, 4E 202

The guard’s arrows weren’t doing much damage.  Ondolemar’s spells, he noted, weren’t doing a lot better. There were footsteps on the stairs behind him but he could not spare the time to turn and look.

“KRII-LUN-AUS!” the new presence behind, and to his right, shouted.

The dragon, now covered in a slight blue glow, flinched hard and, with a grunt, whipped its head around to face the new attacker.  “ _Dovahkiin, hin kah fen kos bonaar!_ ” it yelled, its voice causing the air to tremble as its eyes focused past Ondolemar.

 _“Pahlok dova! 2” _ the person behind him answered, the earth beneath him shivering slightly at the sound of her voice. _“Bovul nu uv hin sille fen nahkip suleyki. 3”_

Ondolemar released another lightning bolt at the dragon, while it was distracted, and noted, in surprise, that this one did a great deal more damage than the previous.  The dragon whipped its head up and screamed fire at him.  He felt the fire impact on his ward and then… a slight figure stepped between him and the dragon withstanding the Shout currently blowing through his Greater Ward as if it were nothing more than a poorly cast flame spell.

“FUS-RO-DAH!” she yelled, and the fire was blown back into the dragon’s face.  The dragon choked hard and moved to lunge, but the woman in front of Ondolemar simply leveled her bow and loosed4 an arrow hitting it in the eye.  The dragon grunted once and went still. 

Ondolemar watched as the dragon’s body began to burn from the inside, its skin flaking away, and a storm of raw energy poured into, and around, Alexa.  And then it was over and all that was left was a dragon’s lifeless skeleton.

For a moment it felt like the entire city held its breath, unable to think of anything to say to the woman who had just, irrefutably, revealed herself to be dragonborn.  She ignored them all walking past Ondolemar, and his guards, and into the keep. 

* * *

Returning to the keep Ondolemar found the dragonborn in negotiations with the keep’s smith and a dremora Valkynaz leaning against the wall to one side of the door to the smithy, arms crossed over his chest.

As he approached the dremora gave him a once over and snorted.  “No match at all.”

Ondolemar blinked in surprise.  Normally dremora summons didn’t talk much outside of combat.  Still, the thing was bound and Ondolemar had a dragonborn to interrogate.  The dremora grabbed him by the upper arm – grip tight enough to bruise – as Ondolemar moved to push past him.  He grinned predatorily at Ondolemar.  “Harm her and I will honor my lord by destroying you,” it hissed at him.

“Noted, now unhand me,” Ondolemar snapped.

He rubbed his upper arm and frowned in consideration at the dremora who had gone back to lounging against the wall.  Summons, especially ones as high ranked as a Valkynaz, usually resented their summoner. They certainly did not act proactively to protect them.  _I will honor my lord, by destroying you_ , it had said.  Was it possible the dremora had orders from Mehrunes Dagon to keep the dragonborn safe until she fulfilled her destiny? 

A snort of laughter caught his attention.  He turned to find an imperial mage with two dogs, including Alexa’s, by his feet. “Interesting,” the mage commented. “The Valkynaz usually only reacts that way to Alexa’s suitors.”

“What?” Ondolemar demanded, in surprise, glancing, swiftly, towards his bodyguards.  Their stoic expressions indicated to him that they were intending to pretend that they hadn’t heard what the Imperial had just said and wouldn’t have acknowledged believing it even if they had.  Ondolemar made a mental note to reward their loyalty and discretion in some way.

“Don’t know how he knows,” the mage continued.  “But he always seems to.  Anyway, when she gets done with the smith, tell her I’ve taken the dogs to Taran’s place to avoid any complications with the Jarl’s hounds.”

Ondolemar gave him a flat, expressionless, look.

The mage grinned and, signaling for the dogs to follow him, turned away from Ondolemar and started down the stairs.

A moment later Alexa exited the smithy with a bottle of Black-Briar Reserve from her bag in one hand. Seeing him she tossed the dremora the bottle she was holding.  The dremora grinned, saluted her with the bottle, and returned to Oblivion with it in a spiral of purple fire.

“Mead?” Ondolemar asked in surprise.

“He’s one of Sanguine’s dremora.  He likes to drink, fight, drink more, and get into trouble… usually in that order,” she told him wearily.  “Sometimes I facilitate.  Other times I just give him alcohol.  Keeping him happy, or at least not actively resentful, seems like my wisest course of action.  Is there something I can do for you, Commander?”

 _Sanguine?_   He probably should have expected that.  It seemed her husband was actually looking out for her.  “It is possible you saved my life today,” Ondolemar noted casually, shoving his thoughts on the dragonborn, daedric princes, and his own feelings, away for later.  “I thought I might invite you to have tea with me as thanks.”

“Is tea all your life is worth?” she asked with a wry smile.

“It’s a start,” Ondolemar answered, as Cyril5, without being ordered to do so, made his way towards the kitchen. 

* * *

“You are well?” Ondolemar asked as he deliberately closed the door on Tantha who had seemed unusually interested in making sure the afternoon tea service was _perfect_.

Alexa gave him a startled look.

“The energy absorption; you said, previously, that you did not believe it was harmful.  Is that still true?”

“You know, you are the only one who has ever asked me that,” Alexa noted, taking the seat he offered her. “It is not physically harmful,” she answered, closing her eyes for a moment and leaning back in her chair.  “His name was Lokvurkaal: Sky-valor-champion.  When Alduin disappeared he left Skyrim, and, for a time, lived on the island of Kamlesh and hunted fast swimming fish, the size of grown men, in the Sea of Pearls.  From the Sinistral he learned the magics of wind and sand, adapting them to dragon thu’um, but even his voice could not save the islands when Yokuda sank beneath the sea.  So he returned here, to the mountains of Keizaal, and carved out a small lordship for himself… until the Akaviri came.”  Alexa opened her eyes.  “More than that will take some time to sort through…”  When Ondolemar didn’t immediately respond she continued.

“The first dragon I slew, Mirmulnir, he had lived, as he was, his memories uninterrupted by death, from the first moments of the Mythic Era until the day I slew him.”  Her expression turned to one of sorrow and anger. “The things his experience could have taught us all…  It would take me every day for a full century to write out only his most important memories and most useful knowledge.  Such a _waste._   But, it seems, experience does not necessarily lead to wisdom.  He believed that Alduin’s return was proof that Akatosh had forgiven the dov.  In his last moments he recognized me for what I am and understood, for the first time, how thoroughly our father has turned his face from his sons.  Even as he died he understood that Alduin’s return was, in fact, a test.  A test he had failed almost before it had begun.”  She smiled sadly and shrugged.

“And you experience them _all_ like that?” Ondolemar asked, a little horrified.

“Yes, and no.  After a few days the new memories will dull to the point that they will cease to feel like they happened to me and start to feel more like something that happened to someone else.  I am told that, eventually, even that will dissipate and it will be more like information gained from reading a book.  The basic plot and useful facts may be retained but the boring, and emotionally charged, day to day will fade until it is only remembered on purpose.  Or so the Greybeards tell me.”

“So, for the moment, you remember the horror of the Dragon Cults, and the fall of Yokuda, as if you had been there?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure how I’d handle that,” he admitted.

“I stay busy.  There is less time to think and to remember that way. Still it is not always easy to sleep.”

There was a short silence as Ondolemar searched for something to say.  Finally he realized there was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound patronizing so he changed the subject.  “You said the first dragon knew things.  Anything of particular interest?”

She considered him for a moment before nodding ever so slightly.  “Everyone wonders where the Dwemer went,” Alexa began.  “But have you ever wondered where they came from?”

“All mer arrived in Alinor from Aldmeris,” Ondolemar told her.  “All mer races diverge from there.”

“But the Dwemer were already in Morrowind when the Chimer arrived,” she pointed out.6

Ondolemar thought about that for a second.  Now that she mentioned it, that was what the annals suggested, but it certainly wasn’t what he’d been taught…  “Alright, where did the Dwemer come from, if not from Alinor?”

“They were from the future, but not the future of this kalpa, the future of a previous one,”7 she told him.  “It is how their technology was so advanced but without any apparent precursors; how the entire race, not just a few powerful magic users like the Psijics, could communicate telepathically; and why they held such disregard for the sapient beings of this kalpa, including other mer.  To them none of this,” she gestured around her, “was fully real.”

“Interesting, but, if they were so advanced that they could move between kalpa, then what happened to them?” Ondolemar countered.

“Kagrenac believed that by recreating the circumstances of Auriel’s departure from Nirn – during the First Dawn – the Dwemer could follow the god’s example,” Alexa explained.  “So he stabbed the heart of Lorkhan – with a tool called ‘Sunder’ – and used a tool called ‘Keening’ to transmute the power of the agony of defeat, and literally having one’s heart ripped from one’s chest, into the what he believed would be the appropriate Tone, which would then be transmitted to their entire race via ‘the Calling’.  That last part, at least, worked just as he had hoped.  The rest, not so much.”

“So what _did_ happen?  How’d he get it wrong?”

“His theory was based upon a false given,” she answered.  Then, apparently realizing he was going to need more than that, gestured dismissively and began again.  “Dwemer, you see, were never good with the ‘Gray Maybe’ that is the Mundus.  For them things either were or were not. Black or white, yes or no, never gray and maybe.  But this world is _tripartite_ not bipartite.” She paused for a moment, meeting his eyes.  “The Altmer used to know this – used to view duality as an impossibility8 \- used to understand that this creation is not black and white, but black, grey, and white.  That it is not beginning and end but beginning _middle_ and end: birth, life, death, over and over again.  It is Lorkhan, Akatosh, and Alduin - creator, preserver, and destroyer – each leading inexorably into the next, each struggling against the others to lengthen the time of their own dominion over the cycle… This your people’s philosophers understood back before dissonance became as loud as it is now.”  Alexa paused for a moment, pulling distractedly at her fingers as she clearly thought carefully about what she was about to tell him.  He waited, having learned better, at this point in their relationship, than to let her out of finishing an explanation by asking follow-up questions before she was done.

Alexa stopped pulling at her fingers and took a sip of the tea he’d put beside her.  “The deep truth,” she began, softly, “is that, to create something one must do things in order: one after another.  Time itself is Change is Creation is Mortality is Death is Ending. If you cannot have Change without Time or Time without Change are they not the same thing?  If Akatosh were to act as a god of change and Lorkahn, or even Alduin, were to act as the god of time, would we be able to tell?  And if you cannot tell the difference between two things, are they different?”  She glanced up at him again, her eyes searching.  “In such circumstances must we not at least attempt to question _everything_ we think we know?”

Ondolemar met her eyes squarely but remained silent.  She looked away.

“Kagrenac failed because he believed something that was not true – that Auriel had left Nirn9– and so he attempted a mythopoeic recreation of an event that never happened. That, under such circumstances, he should fail to achieve his goal is all but inevitable.  We should all be grateful that the results of his failure, while interacting with forces of such magnitude, were as contained as they were.” Alexa fell silent.

From any other source Ondolemar would have found the assertion that Auriel’s ascension – the event upon which all Altmer hope for transcendence was founded – had never happened laughable, but from Alexa...  “Are you truly suggesting Auriel never left Nirn?” he demanded. 

“How could he?” she responded.  “He traveled to Nirn, from Aetherius, in a ship which has become the Adamantine Tower.10 If a ship was required for his travel to Nirn, how did he leave without it?”

“If Auriel didn’t leave, then where is he?” Ondolemar countered. 

“We still experience consecutive time, do we not?  And his planet remains in the heavens, does it not?”  She paused briefly before continuing.  “If I were to separate a blade from it’s hilt and walk away, taking the hilt with me but leaving the blade here, where would the sword be?”

“It would be nowhere,” he answered dully, his mind still trying to process the last few minutes of conversation.

“But neither would it have ceased to exist,” she agreed.  “The Anumidium was constructed under the common misconception that the entity representing the stability point between creation and destruction had left the world.  Its Tones attempted to mimic that leaving, and so tore stable, consecutive, time away from the world.  And that is why activating the Numidium breaks time.”

“The Numidium did a great deal more than simply break time,” Ondolemar stated, icily.

“True.  Zurin Arctus – misunderstanding the Dwemer schematics he’d received from the Tribunal – powered the construct, not with a short burst of creatia produced by striking the Heart of Lorkhan, but with a facsimile of the Heart itself.  This placed Lorkhan’s power of creation within the bubble of un-time created by the Numidium’s tonal field.11 Since un-time is the space in which Lorkhan is at his most powerful, the result was that all possible timelines, all possible creations, flow from the Numidium but are inverted due to the abnegaurbic12 value of the field.  And so the Numidium unmakes not only the world around it but all possibility of other worlds, and other timelines, within its area of influence.”13

Ondolemar stared at her blankly for nearly a full minute.  “Why would _anyone_ ever use something like that?” he whispered, horrified.

He watched her carefully as Alexa worked through the question in her mind.  “Drake do not exist in un-time so I have no memories of the times in which the Numidium was active… but Talos could and did,” she muttered more to herself than to him.  Then she blinked clearly surprised by something.  “Foolish to think that all Tiber Septim’s motivations could be fully deduced from this side of the time/un-time barrier when the man himself moved back and fourth across it.”  She shook her head as if to clear it.  Her gaze returned from the middle distance to include him in the conversation again.  “It was another ‘Real Moment’ the barriers were weak and something, from outside, threatened all of Creation.  That is all the dragon memories know for certain…” she paused again.  “But the record I found in Apocrypha, on the importance of the Towers, referred to an ‘Emperor Actual’…  Talos, he must have needed to be Emperor of all of Tamriel to make full use of his bond with White-Gold14– stabilize creation – so that he could prevent whatever the threat was from coming through.  If so, it must have been bad... The Hoonding had already manifested in an attempt to save its people and Vivec was fully concentrated on Morrowind, what could…” her eyes widened as something else occurred to her, “it was the Hist.”15

“The _hist_?” Ondolemar repeated, incredulously.  “Tiber Septim used a construct that, according to you, literally un-makes not just this world but all other worlds, to conquered _my people,_ because of a bunch of semi-sentient _trees_?”

“Saying the Hist is 'a bunch of semi-sentient trees' is like saying that Mehrunes Dagon is a bunch of xivilai,”16 Alexa argued.  “Yes they are fragments of his mind but he is a great deal more than that and his attempt at a full manifestation, in this world, was an unmitigated disaster.”

Ondolemar went still with suppressed anger.  “Do you agree with Septim’s choice?”

“I don’t know enough about the situation to say.  But I think I now understand why the histories present Talos as acting like a man working under significant time constraint.”

Ondolemar watched her carefully for a moment.  He’d always been impressed by the fact that Alexa saw a bigger picture than most.  It had, to his mind, given her an almost mer-like outlook on the world.  But now he found himself wondering if it was possible for the picture to become so big it was no longer useful.17 Not wanting to get into a fight over a past neither of them had been present for, or could do anything about, he changed the subject.  “Alexa, who controls the dragons?” 

She looked at him like he’d lost his mind.  “Alduin controls them, in as much as it is possible to control dragons.”

“But who is he allied with?” Ondolemar pushed.  “Is it the Blades?  They certainly knew a lot of dragon lore at one point.”

She laughed at that sliding down in her chair as if the strength of her laughter had deprived her of verticality.  “Ondolemar,” she finally began, as she wiped the tears from her eyes, “you may not have noticed, but the number of persons in Skyrim with the knowledge, or ability, to compel a _dremora_ to do their bidding is vanishingly small.  What would possibly make you think anyone here could control a _dragon,_ much less the Manifest Metaphor that is the World-Eater himself?”

He opened his mouth to answer but she shook her head, cutting him off.  “No.  Only another, stronger, dragon can control dragons and most of them see no reason to ally themselves with _joor_ – mortals.  A term that is every bit the insult you might think.”

“You are _certain_ of that?”

“I know it in my bones, in my blood, and with each new soul I absorbed, I grow more confident of it. To control a dragon, bend it to your will, you must speak with the voice of one.  Among the mortal inhabitants of Tamriel only a dragonborn could achieve such a thing.”

He shook his head at that. “Surely someone must have revived Alduin or brought him back from wherever he’s been all this time.  The weakened state of Skyrim, the attack at Helgan, these things are far too well timed to be random.”

“It may be true that Alduin had help in his return,” she allowed slowly.  “Just… not the way you’re thinking.”

“I’m listening.”

She pulled a black book from her pack and dropped it onto the side table between their chairs.

“The Book of the Dragonborn?” he asked, reaching out and picking it up.

“It’s a discussion of what little is known about dragonborn, including the Prophecy of the Last Dragonborn. As you can see from all the pages that have been added to this copy I’ve been keeping my own notes on the subject.  

“The Prophecy of the Last Dragonborn is, mostly, a list of conditions that, when met, will herald the, near-immediate it turns out, return of Alduin.  After the conclusion of the Oblivion Crisis the only conditions yet to be satisfied were that Skyrim be kingless and ‘bleeding’.  Both conditions were fulfilled by the death of High King Torygg at the hands of Ulfric Stormcloak.  So, if anyone can be said to have helped Alduin return from wherever he was, it was Ulfric Stormcloak.

“As far as the attack on Helgan is concerned that’s probably my fault.  Alduin sensed the presence of an unknown dragon, as he was flying by, and decided to assert his dominance right then and there.  As I had yet to absorb my first dragon soul he probably couldn’t tell which of the feeble ground crawlers was the dragonborn and so decided to just kill everyone.”

“So, in the battle between the dragonborn and the World-Eater, Alduin struck the first blow?” he asked, recalling something Earmiel had once said about Alexa’s propensity for violence being almost entirely self-defense.18

“Yes.”

Ondolemar pondered that for a second.  “If you must fight a thing that can destroy whole cities on a whim, should you not be spending _all_ your time with the Greybeards?”

“I can see how you’d think that,” she smiled a little ruefully.  “But they worry about power gained too quickly and with too much ease. Unfortunately I fear they may be fixated upon the wrong source of power.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t get me wrong, the words of power – the theory behind the shouts they make up, the ways in which the magic interacts with the world – _are_ fascinating and as potentially dangerous as any arcane knowledge.  But more worrying, to me at least, is that with each dragon I kill I can feel my dragon blood grow stronger, feel myself becoming… more like _them_ – us? – I’m not sure I even know anymore.”  She sighed. “Perhaps that is what is necessary to defeat Alduin.  But… I wonder what I will be if I survive.”

Ondolemar cleared his throat a little awkwardly, calling her attention away from whatever was happening in her head, and back to him.  “Then, perhaps the Greybeards have good reason to take it slow?” he suggested.

“Yes, well, we wouldn’t want to fry the poor dragonborn’s tiny human brain with big scary dragon words,” she sneered sarcastically.  “Fill her mind with memories accrued over several immortal lifetimes, sure, why not? Teach her a few dozen rotmulaag – words of power – now that’s just crazy talk!”

“Perhaps they worry they fried Ulfric’s tiny human mind and are attempting to avoid repeating their mistake?” he suggested, with a small smile.  At least she seemed to be maintaining her sense of humor.  “It’s as good an explanation for the man as any.”

“And here I was thinking it was just my fate to be continuously surrounded by older men who are too busy being superior to tell me what I need to know,” Alexa sighed a little wearily.

“That seemed rather pointed,” he observed.  “Is there something _I_ have not been clear about?”

She hesitated a moment. “How legal are Thalmor orders of summary execution?”

“Totally illegal,” he told her, brows arched slightly in surprise. “Why?”

“Another dead Justiciar – this time in Falkreath.  Looked like he and his guards got pulverized by a combo of troll and frostbite spider.  I’d guess spriggen involvement myself.  Anyway, I went through his pockets to see if there was anything to bring back to you. Only thing he had on him was his orders.  Which, if they were illegal, doesn't speak well for his intelligence.”

Ondolemar went very still. “Do you believe I would write such an order?”

“Wasn’t in your handwriting,” she told him, her eyes steady on his face.

“How long ago was this?”

“A week, maybe?”

He frowned at her.  He hadn’t lost a squad in nearly four months. “I’ll look into it,” he promised. “So… what have you been doing in Solstheim?  Ancano’s report was, very odd.”

“No doubt,” Alexa agreed. “The situation _is_ fairly unusual.  The first dragonborn, Miraak, has been stuck in Apocrypha – enslaved by Hermaeus Mora – since the Dragon War.  His escape plan hinges upon my death.  Mora, I think, would rather see me take Miraak’s place than lose access to the abilities of a dragonborn.  So I have returned to Skyrim to speak with some people about how to avoid death at the hands of the first dragonborn or slavery to a daedric prince.”

“Any luck with that?” Ondolemar asked, concerned.

“Some.  It will have to be enough.  Pray that I succeed.  Miraak is extremely powerful and, after all this time, quite insane.”  She rubbed tiredly at her face.  “All of _my_ craziness aside, how is Taran doing?”

“You will have to ask him,” Ondolemar informed her.  “We have agreed not to talk about political matters.”

“Really?” she asked, eyebrows arched in disbelief.  “How very civilized of you.”

There was a knock on the door.  Ondolemar gritted his teeth in annoyance before responding.  “Enter!”

Tantha pushed the door open and stepped into the room.  “Commander, the Jarl believes you might wish to attend the meeting he has called on the topic of protecting the city from future dragon attacks.  It will begin, in the throne room, in about ten minutes.”

Ondolemar inclined his head. “I will be there, you may go.”

As the door closed again Alexa slid from her chair.  “Seems it is time I was going.”

Ondolemar stood as well catching her hand as she turned away from him.  “Before you go, there _is_ one last thing we have yet to address,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers.

She turned back to him with a questioning look on her face.

“I’m guessing the execution order you mentioned was for you?”

“It was.”

“Do you know why?”

“Not specifically, no.”

“Do you still have it?”

“Yes.”

“Leave it with me. I’ll look into it.”

“Ondolemar…”

“I promised to protect you, remember?”19

“And I told you not to risk yourself to do so,” she reminded him.

He gave an exasperated little sigh.  “You just told me that someone, who can give orders to Justiciars, authorized the murder of one of _my_ assets.  Even if the asset in question were not you, I would still find it worth looking into.”

That got him a wry little smile.  “I suppose that’s fair,” she allowed, extricating her hand from his to dig through her pack.  She pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of paper and slipped it into The Book of the Dragonborn that was still sitting on the table.  “There.  I’ll get the book back from you the next time I’m in town.  Is there anything else you need before I go?”

“Just to request that you do your best to survive your confrontation with the First Dragonborn,” he replied.

“Is that an order, Commander?” she smiled, her eyes laughing, up at him.

“No,” he answered, taking the single step to close the distance between them and wrapping his arms around her.  “I have been listening well enough to know better than to expect a dragon to follow orders.”

“Wise of you,” Alexa whispered, leaning into him and slipping her arms around his waist.  “I would rather not lie to you.”

Ondolemar snorted softly into her hair.  “Your definition of telling the truth has always been a little suspect, my love. Your ability to twist the meaning of words to suit your needs would impress even Clavicus Vile, I think.”

“Oh?  So I am to blame for the fact that you do not experience the world in the same way I do?” she asked archly, without pulling away.

“You are not to blame for the rest of the world not being dragons,” he chuckled.  “Still, you should know that I _have_ noticed your facility with language means I must pay close attention to what you actually do, and do not, say.”

Her arms tightened around him, briefly, before she let go and stepped away.  As she did so he saw her eyes flick to the book and then back to him.  “You know, in all the time we’ve spent together, you have never asked my name?”

“I believe I mentioned something about that the last time we spoke,” he reminded her.  “I am also aware that, at the time, you failed to even confirm if Alexa is anything more than a pseudonym.”

She held out a hand to him. “Sikendra de’Arte.  Originally of Camlorn.”

Ondolemar took the offered hand.  “It is a pleasure to finally be introduced,” he whispered before kissing the inside of her wrist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Dragonborn, your pride will be humbled!
> 
> 2 Arrogant dragon.
> 
> 3 Flee now or your soul will feed my power.
> 
> 4 **That moment when** someone is _obviously_ right about your misuse of language: “Arrows are ‘loosed’, cannons and guns are ‘fired’. If you wish to ‘fire’ an arrow you will need to tie oil-soaked rags to it first.” - My father, the historian.  
> *sigh* Thanks dad… now I have yet another petty linguistic hang-up to live with. And now YOU all can have it too! Mwahahahahah!
> 
> 5 I gave Ondolemar’s guards the names Cyril (male) and Tantha (female). I’ve actually been considering writing a short something, from their point of view, about every major interaction between Alexa and Ondolemar… Maybe I’ll put it between Act 3 and Act 4.
> 
> 6 Implied in Before the Ages of Man as well as the Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition: Morrowind
> 
> 7 See Secret Dwemer Origins, ESO unpublished ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/secret-dwemer-origins))  
> Also implied in Michael Kirkbride’s post “The Dwemer’s religion (01/13/10)” ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/forum-archives-michael-kirkbride))
> 
> 8 …Two lacks vision and attempts to display duality, which we all know is impossible. \- Thoughts on the Sacred Numbers, ESO
> 
> 9 Auri-El led the original Aldmer against the armies of Lorkhan in mythic times, vanquishing that tyrant and establishing the first kingdoms of the Altmer, Altmora and Old Ehlnofey. He then ascended to heaven in full observance of his followers so that they might learn the steps needed to escape the mortal plane… (Varieties of Faith in the Empire, [link](https://elderscrolls.fandom.com/wiki/Varieties_of_Faith_in_the_Empire))
> 
> 10 Implied in A Pocket Guide to The Empire, First Edition: High Rock, Isle of Balfiera. ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/pocket-guide-empire-first-edition-high-rock))  
> Nu-Hatta is somewhat clearer on the subject. Auriel-that-is-Akatosh returned to Mundex Arena from his dominion planet, signaling all Aedra to convene at a static meeting that would last outside of aurbic time. His sleek and silver vessel became a spike into the changing earth… \- Nu-Mantia Intercept, Letter #4 ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/nu-mantia-intercept-letter-4))
> 
> 11 On a slight side note “nu” (Greek letter υ) is the symbol used for frequency in wave equations aka the variable that dictates the sound (or tone) a particular set of vibrations make. Now consider the number of words in TES Lore that include the syllable “nu-”.
> 
> 12 Nu-Mantia Intercept, Letter #8 ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/nu-mantia-intercept-letter-8))
> 
> 13 “It’s not the Brass God that wrecks everything so much as it is all the plane(t)s and timelines that orbit it, singing world-refusals.” (Numidium's siege of Alinor, Michael Kirkbride's undated posts, [link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/posts-kirkbride-undated))
> 
> 14 I swear my Lore chapter on the Towers, or at least the aspects of them that are important for this story, is nearly done.
> 
> 15 Conclusion drawn from Tiber Septim’s Sword-Meeting with Cyrus the Restless ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/tiber-septim%E2%80%99s-sword-meeting-cyrus-restless))
> 
> 16 If this doesn’t make sense to you, see discussion of “lesser daedra” in Lore chapter on Lycanthropy. ([link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17535269/chapters/42108299))
> 
> 17 In TES? Yes. It’s called achieving CHIM, which Alexa has not done… yet.
> 
> 18 Ondolemar’s, not necessarily accurate, take away from his conversation with Earmiel in A2:14.
> 
> 19 See A2:34


	17. The Expat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Altmer converse with the dragonborn (Part 2 of 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Alternative Chapter Summary:** Alexa attempts to avoid a conversation topic and Eolain is having none of it.  
> For further context see [A2:07](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17462264/chapters/41459312) and [A2:30](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17462264/chapters/42400061).
> 
>  
> 
> **Late Winter, 4E 202**

“May I have a moment of your time, my dear?” Eolain asked when she caught up with Alexa as she passed through the market on her way to Taran’s. 

“Of course,” Alexa responded politely.  “What can I do for you m’lady?”

“I would like to have an… an inappropriately candid conversation with you that neither of us will _ever_ tell Dolly about.”

Alexa arched an eyebrow. “Well you certainly have my attention. Shall we raid Taran’s wine cellar before finding a place to talk?”

“That… sounds like a grand idea,” Eolain approved. 

 

* * *

 

“Which do you think is worse,” Alexa asked, gesturing expressively around the now thoroughly looted home of Nepos the Nose as she used some of the wood beside the hearth to build a small fire, “living in the mouldering ruins of a civilization whose technology you cannot hope to imitate, or living in the moldering remnants of your own civilization the grandeur of which you can no longer achieve?”

“You’re in a cheery mood,” Eolain noted dragging over what was left of a rug before taking a seat on it.

“YOL,” Alexa said to the pile of wood she’d made, ignoring Eolain’s comment.

“Impressive,” the Altmer woman acknowledged as the fire that had briefly enveloped the entire hearth dissipated and the wood began to burn on its own.

“I believe there was something you wished to speak to me about?” Alexa reminded her.

Eolain fiddled with the bottle in her hands.  “How much have you gleaned about my purpose for being here, in Skyrim?”

“Well, the first time we met you told me it was to see if you could convince the Commander to be the father of a pureblood child the Thalmor are requiring you to have.  That was… about five months ago.  Sometime after that you mentioned that you were sticking around because you thought he needed a friend.”

Eolain shook her head slightly.  “It still surprises me how open with you I’ve been.”

“You can blame it on me being dragonborn, if you want,” Alexa told her.  “I’ve noticed people do that…” she shrugged.  “Who knows.  Maybe they’re not wrong.”

“You and Dolly did talk, yes?”

Alexa glanced over at her.

“No, before you say it, I know you talk all the time, but I mean, you finally talked about your relationship right?”

“We did.”

“You turned him down?”

Alexa gestured noncommittally.

“Why?”

“Because I’m married and because there’s no going back to Alinor after being the dragonborn’s lover. Given that he may well live for another two centuries, is a relationship with me – until he is recalled to Alinor in a few years – really worth risking the mess his life would become if that relationship were to be discovered?”

“You should let him make that decision for himself,” Eolain told her.  “Besides, you can’t be certain things in Alinor won’t change.  If there is anything that dragonborn have been good for it’s change… and destroying mer nations.  I admit I’m rather hoping you’ll live up to the stereotype.”

“Thalmor is not a simple political movement, Eolain, it is an idea made manifest.  It is the embodiment, and the outcome, of a web of lies, stretching back to at least the Late Merethic, specifically designed to distort the structure of reality itself.1 Something like that cannot be undone within a single lifetime and it has already survived one dragonborn rampage.”

“I’m sorry, what?  No, don’t answer that.”  Eolain moaned softly and rubbed expressively at her temples. “You’re doing it again.  You’re deflecting; distracting me from what I wanted to talk to you about with fascinating and thought-provoking information.  But, much as I would _love_ to hear more about what you think the Thalmor are up to, I wanted to talk to you about Dolly and I won’t be distracted.  Besides, if the Thalmor really are the embodiment of a web of lies, then that’s all the more reason you should take him away from them. Dolly does not deserve to be used in such a manner.”

“And if I am dead ten months from now?” Alexa asked softly, staring blindly into the fire. 

“Is that likely?” Eolain asked, surprised.

Alexa gave a one-shoulder shrug.  “The purpose for which Akatosh created the Last Dragonborn is to attempt to kill a fallen god.  Not even the Prince of Fate knows which of us will survive our encounter.  As Alduin has quite noticeably returned our confrontation might be said to be imminent.”

Eolain opened her mouth to respond to _that_ , stopped, made a funny little noise of irritation, waved away everything Alexa had just said, and returned to her original topic.  “But you do love him, right?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Don’t even try to give me that,” Eolain snorted.  “Even if you never publically acknowledge your relationship I know he loves you.  So, do _you_ love _him_?”

“And to think I had believed not being forced to marry a Breton noble would mean I could avoid being involved in courtly love,”2 Alexa sighed. 

“You could always leave your husband,” Eolain suggested.

“No,” Alexa replied abruptly and with a surprising level of certainty.  “I couldn’t.”

“So the reason you turned Dolly down is that you love your husband?” she asked, before her brain fully took note of the shift her suggestion had caused in Alexa’s body language.  Her golden eyes narrowed as a sudden suspicion took hold.  “You didn’t marry someone you’re afraid of, did you?”

Alexa opened her mouth to answer, blinked in surprise, closed her mouth, buried her face in her hands, and began to laugh.

“I can’t tell if I said something funny or you’re having an hysterical reaction,” Eolain told her, frankly.

Alexa heaved a deep, steading, breath and lifted her head.  “There is simply no good way to answer that question,” she explained, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.  “The perfectly true statement: ‘conceptually my husband, and any possibility of his anger, absolutely terrifies me’, would lead to _exactly_ the wrong conclusion about our relationship.”3

Eolain frowned in confusion. “You’re the dragonborn!  Who, or what, in Oblivion would _you_ be afraid of?  Wait, I think I’m confused.  What do you mean by ‘ _conceptually’_?”

“See, the wrong conclusions, just like I said,” Alexa sighed, leaning back against the wall.  She fidgeted with the band of Mara on her finger clearly considering what to say next.  “It may not have occurred to you but being dragonborn draws a certain amount of attention from the kinds of beings most sane people would rather never interact with.  Being my husband’s wife _protects_ me – to a certain extent – from that kind of interference.  There is also some possibility that having the support of my husband, and his family, may make the difference in my inevitable confrontation with the World-Eater.”

“So you think you need him in order to survive,” Eolain summarized.  “But, if you’re so afraid of your husband’s anger, then why maintain _any_ sort of relationship with Dolly?”

“Fidelity was not part of our marriage contract.  And, oddly enough, my husband has been almost as adamant about taking Ondolemar seriously as Earmiel has been.”  Alexa held up a hand to stop Eolain from interrupting.  “That said my husband has a reputation for capriciousness.  I cannot guarantee that, should I actually take a lover, he would not pose a threat to them.  With that in mind, I’d rather not risk someone I care about as much as I care about Ondolemar.  The last thing the world needs right now is for the dragonborn to leave Nirn in order to express her intense displeasure, with an extra-planar entity, in person.”

Eolain sat in stunned silence, for almost half a breath, before commenting.  “Wow.  That… really is complicated.  But also, I think, not something you can’t work out.”

Alexa gave a slightly annoyed sigh.  “Look, Eolain, if you instigated this conversation because you – for whatever reason – felt you need my permission for your childhood friend to sire your _legally required_ children, then please allow me to clarify my position for you.  I am aware of the situation in which you find yourself.  I also know that even if I were unmarried, not the dragonborn, and actually Ondolemar’s lover – none of which I currently am – the Thalmor would never fully accept me as his wife.  The best we could hope for is to come to the same agreement with them that you have.  This is a simple truth that will not be changed by my _feelings_ on the subject.  So even if Ondolemar and I _were_ to become lovers – in some misty future where, by some miracle, I have successfully defeat Alduin, given up adventuring, and settled down – I wouldn’t hold any of this against you, or him, or any children you might have.” 

“Can you really promise that?” Eolain asked softly, her eyes never leaving Alexa’s face.  “Are you truly that in control of your emotions?”

Alexa met her eyes and Eolain’s breath caught in her throat.  “Best not to make the mistake of thinking of me as human,” the dragonborn stated, her quiet voice causing the stone beneath them to shiver as her presence became a sudden, overwhelming, weight in the air around them.  Foggily, through her rising panic over her inability to breath, Eolain realized Earmiel had actually been right about something: beneath the human exterior Alexa was anything but.4  Then the dragonborn looked away again and it was over.  “Besides,” Alexa added, more to herself than to Eolain, “prophecy indicates that I’m the _last_ dragonborn.  It… is not a title without implications.”

 _That_ Eolain felt like a punch to the gut.  “Alexa…” she whispered too stunned to say anything else.

The Breton woman shrugged slightly, all signs of the power she embodied now gone.  “It’s actually not as clear as one might think.  Since the Elder Scrolls never showed anything after the moment of Alduin’s return the descriptor ‘Last’ may be nothing more than an artifact of the way the Elder Scrolls work rather than an indication of what may, or may not, happen if I survive my confrontation with the World-Eater.”

“I… see,” Eolain began, quietly, her mind still reeling.  She then gave a frustrated little growl as she realized that, once again, Alexa had managed to shove her off-topic.  It would have been impressive if it weren’t so utterly frustrating.  Eolain squared her shoulders and tried again.  “Look, Alexa, I like you.  I like the fact that Dolly likes you.  I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.  And I want you _both_ to be happy.”  She paused searching for a way, in the face of quite a lot of new information, to say what she’d wanted to say when she’d started this conversation.  “I may not be able to help with your side of things – except to point out that you clearly feel a need for greater clarity on the boundaries in your marriage and to suggest you talk with your husband about it – but I _can_ help on Dolly’s end.”

Alexa gave her a surprised look but didn’t interrupt.

“The duty that will recall Dolly to Alinor, in three years time, is not to the Thalmor – who would otherwise simply promote him to a nicer area of Tamriel than _Skyrim_ – but to his family.  That is something I _can_ help with.  But, before I offer to handle Dolly’s familial duty to return to Alinor, I wanted to know if you were serious about him.  Which, you seem to be… even if I’m less than certain of what that actually means.  What I want to know _now_ is what your plans for him are.”

Alexa cocked her head to the side a look of confusion crossing her face.  “As many plans as I have in general, I have no plans for him in specific,” she replied.

Eolain gave her a condescending little smile.  “Sweet pea, you didn’t just wake up one day to discover you’d seduced a Thalmor Emissary.5 If my brother’s reading of your personality is at all accurate you began with political plans that involved him.  What are they?”

“To be exceedingly blunt, Eolain, in the beginning it never occurred to me a human _could_ seduce a Thalmor Emissary.  I did, however, find our friendship useful when it became clear that peace with the Foresworn would require that the Commander look the other way until Taran had fully ingratiated himself with the court,” Alexa answered. “And, before you ask, every plan I had back then, for anyone or anything, went up in smoke the first time I killed a dragon.”

“And, back then, the Foresworn mattered to you?” Eolain asked in surprise.

“I am jill,” Alexa replied softly.  “A _female_ dragon.  Not like all my brothers – the drake – that are currently flying around causing trouble.  The jill, we… fix things.”

“What kind of things?”

“The world, mostly.”

“Is the world broken? I mean, beyond needing a generalized shift away from overly dramatic politics.”

“Broken enough that the Manifest Metaphor of its end has returned prematurely – before his allotted time, before the cycle’s end,” Alexa answered.  “ _That_ is why I was created, Eolain, that’s why I’m here; to fix the world enough that this cycle can complete. What else matters when compared to that?”

“And the Forsworn figure into this how?” she asked, confused.

“Practice, I suppose.”

“And Dolly?” Eolain pressed. “How does he figure into any of this?”

“He doesn’t.  What I find myself involved with now is not a conflict between nations, or peoples, but between philosophies of existence. Just because one of those philosophies happens to look like an enormous black dragon does not mean our conflict will be any less a test our understandings of Creation itself.”6

Eolain gave her a sideways glance.  “You know, as much I love you, you’re getting weirder.  None of that made any sense.”

“I know,” Alexa sighed and stood up.  “Do me a favor, Eolain.  Don’t make any decision based upon the expectation that, a year from now, I will be around to have an opinion about them.  That way, if I’m not, you’ll have done the right thing, and, if I am, we can always talk it out over drinks.”  Alexa turned and walked out.

Eolain watched her go and didn’t try to stop her.  Instead she sat staring numbly into the fire long after the hollow banging of the front door had indicated the Dragonborn had truly left.  Had she been younger Eolain might have cried.  Instead stayed where she was, watching the fire die, contemplating what she had learned and what she was going to do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 The Thalmor is easily the most dangerous organization in the Aurbis. More so than Talos. They cannot be understood. They are the Other and they hate everything that even smells like mortality. And they're going to win in the end. (Michael Kirkbride – Reddit AMA, [link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/michael-kirkbride-reddit-ama))  
> Also for your consideration the “Elven Lie that all Men believe”, mentioned in unofficial lore texts by both Kier-jo and Jobasha. ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/forum-archives-unknown-posts))
> 
> 2 There, I said it.
> 
> 3 However good to her Sanguine has been, thus far, he’s still a Daedric Prince.
> 
> 4 See A2:24 for their conversation.
> 
> 5 Actually, that is kind of what happened.
> 
> 6 “You must understand, dragon magic – even the stuff we’d classify as Destruction or Illusion magic – is more like tonal architecture or really powerful Alteration magic. All of it, even the least of their spells, works by altering, not the caster or the target, but the world.” – Alexa, A2:20


	18. The Dissident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Altmer converse with the dragonborn (Part 3 of 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late Winter, 4E 202

_Two days later…_

Earmiel looked up with a smile and set his book aside.  “My-my, if it isn’t my favorite lady back from Solstheim.  I like the new hair color, by the way.  The red is sassy!"

"Thanks?"

"Of course."  He sobered slightly.  "What can I do for you, my friend?”

“Actually I was just planning on passing through and then I remembered that I have a present for you.”

“A present?  _For me_? You shouldn’t have!” he exclaimed holding out a hand.

Alexa smiled and reached into her bag.  “I remembered you were into magical curiosities…” she explained as she drew out a round glowing red stone.  “Here. For you.  A stone pulled from the ashes of Red Mountain, supposedly imbued with power from the Heart of Lorkhan itself!”  She put the stone in his hand.  “Grand Master Neloth calls them ‘heart stones’ and seems to think they can be used much like hagravens use briar seeds.  Though he has also found a way to use them in the enchanting of magical staffs. I think they’re similar to the substance the Dwemer purified to create the power cores for their automatons.  I thought you might find them interesting.”

“I think I love you,” Earmiel breathed, eyes wide, as he inspected the heart stone carefully.  “Totally platonically, of course,” he added.

“Of course,” she laughed.

“It’s warm,” he noted. “And it seems to have… a heartbeat?”

“Kind of creepy if you ask me,” Alexa affirmed.

“And you are certain it is infused with power from the Heart of Lorkhan?” he asked.

She took the stone back from him and put it on his hearth.  Then she pulled her role of tuning forks and a strange knife made of crystal and Dwemer metal from her bag.

“What are you doing?” he inquired suspiciously.

“Testing Neloth’s theory for you,” she answered, humming as she carefully adjusting the weights on four forks.  He watched as she struck each tuning fork before placing them between the fingers of her left hand such that the bases protruded through to the palm side of her fingers.  She then placed the heart stone in her hand balanced on top of the bases of the resonating tuning forks.  To his surprise the stone began to humm.  Alexa, with a look of profound concentration on her face, swept the odd Dwemer dagger through the air above the stone.  The faint sound of the resonating stone split, becoming a distinct series of chords. Alexa quickly put the knife and heart stone down, silencing the music.

“Wow,” Earmiel murmured, impressed.  “I had no idea you were on your way to being a tonal architect.  Still, as impressive as that was, I’m not sure what it proved.”

She held up the Dwemer knife.  “This is Keening.  One of the tools Chief Tonal Architect Kagrenac tuned _specifically_ to the Heart.  I’d say the fact it acted as it just did proves these stones resonate at similar frequencies to the Heart of Lorkhan.”

“Lexi…” Earmiel gasped.  “That was exceedingly dangerous!  You know that, right?” he demanded half angry and half terrified.  “And why do you just _happen_ to have one of Kagrenac’s tools to hand?”

She shrugged, and began putting her tuning forks away.  “Luck mostly. One of the mages at the College is working on a theory of what happened to the Dwemer.  I haven’t the heart to tell him a dragon I killed had a pretty compelling theory…  Besides, his experimental design is fascinating.  I will be interested to see the results.  Anyway, he was the one who arranged to have Keening delivered to the College but bandits waylaid the shipment.  I retrieved the dagger from the bandits and haven’t been back to Winterhold yet.”

“ _That’s_ what Arniel Gane is working on?” Earmiel blinked in surprise.

She cocked an eyebrow at him.  “You know about Gane’s research?”

Earmiel groaned slightly. “The Thalmor think he’s working on aetherium.”

Alexa rolled her eyes. “A certain someone needs to stop going through the journals in my room.  Who knows what I may have left behind with the intention of misleading my fellow academics?  I am in a pranking competition with Onmund after all and I am known for playing a long game.”

“I’ll drop a hint or two…” Earmiel sighed.  He picked up the heart stone and looked it over again.  It really was fascinating.  He looked up at her.  “So, now that the gift-giving portion of this interaction is over, what can I do for you my very well mannered Breton?”

“Who says you must do anything but be yourself?” she enquired with wide-eyed innocence.

“You certainly do know how to make a guy feel special,” he chuckled.  “Thankfully I am partially immune to your wiles.”

She smiled a little secretively at that but said nothing.

“Shall I guess then?” he asked.  “I assume that you, pretty little Lexi, are actually here to learn what’s happened around Skyrim in your absence.”

“You are the biggest gossip I know,” she affirmed.

“And best informed, I hope,” he responded.  “Sadly, in the dead of winter, there hasn’t been much to be informed about.  On the civil war front Ulfric is feeling the pinch after the removal of the Silver-Bloods from Markarth.1 He will have to make a move soon or find a way to replace them as a source of funding. I understand he has already attempted to blackmail Markarth’s Steward over his use of a certain type of potion.2 That attempt failed but, with the Thalmor Justiciars quartered in the city, an attempt of a religious nature may find somewhat better traction.

“The only other news I have is that Thane Erikur of Solitude recently came into possession of an arms shipment from Black Marsh.  I understand its contents were, primarily, of elven manufacture.”3

“And to whom did he sell those arms?” she inquired.

“I haven’t heard.  But I have not seen anyone in the Legion armed with elven blades.”

Alexa smiled a little at that.  “I am sure Falk Firebeard would find that _very_ interesting.”

“I am certain he would,” Earmiel agreed.  “So, where were you headed that you were ‘passing through’ an out of the way place like Morthal?”

“Labyrinthian,” she answered.  “I recently came into possession of an artifact renowned for its auto-mobility.4  I’ll be interested to see if it can get out of the dragon shrine.”

“Oh?”

Alexa dug through her pack again and then tossed Earmiel the Necromancer’s Amulet.

He looked it over carefully before sighing heavily.  “I’m not going to ask how you got Mannimarco’s amulet,” he told her, handing it back.  “I’m certain I don’t want to know.”

“Then you _really_ don't want to know about the other thing I currently have in my bag,” she smirked, wrapping the amulet back up before putting it away.

“What 'other thing'?” Earmiel asked suspiciously.

“The pommel of Mehrunes’ Razor,” she replied.

Earmiel squeezed his eyes shut and swore, creatively, in Aldmeri.  Suddenly he winced and cracked one eye open at her.  “You probably understood all of that, didn’t you?”

“Yep.”

“You, young lady, are over-educated,” he informed her.

“Dragons have a facility for language,” she told him.  “And most of them actually _remember_ the Aldmer.”

“So you’re really going to stick both of those things in that shrine and hope they remain there for the rest of time?” he asked.

She shrugged.  “I have the only known key.  If Dagon wants his razor he’ll either have to send someone after me or summon its pieces back to Oblivion, fix it, and then find a way to get it back here.5 Either way, I’d say the world is safe from its influence for a while longer.  As for Mannimarco... I’ll be interested to see what happens.”

“Mannimarco,” Earmiel repeated, slowly.  “You think he’s still active in the world?’”

Alexa paused clearly uncertain, though whether it was of what to say or of how to say it he couldn’t tell.  “What do you know about the Necromancer’s Amulet?” she finally asked him.

“A magical wonder, it has _four_ enchantments on it vs. the usual limit of two.  It absorbs spells, heals wounds, bestows resistance against normal weapons and grants the wearer ‘wisdom beyond their years’,” Earmiel intoned, reciting what he’d been taught.  “Why?”

“Because, while the amulet in my bag clearly _is_ the Necromancer’s Amulet, it doesn’t do all of those things anymore,” she answered.6 “Firstly it now appears to have only three effects, not four.  It increases the wearer’s base mangicka pool, and their facility with Conjuration, but sap vitality.  Vitality that – unlike the Equilibrium spell - is not being repurposed into magicka.”

Earmiel frowned at that. “So an artifact that once increased the vitality of its wearer now steals it?  How is that possible?  As far as I know enchantments, once cast, cannot be changed.”

“They can’t,” she replied. “And Mannimarco was never known for his ability as an enchanter.  But just because a thing can do something that can be achieved with an enchantment, doesn’t mean it has that enchantment on it.  Argonians can breath underwater without the aid of a waterbreathing enchantment after all.”

“So you’re saying you think there are, at most, two enchantments out there that, along with whatever the native property of the amulet is, would account for all four effects?” Earmiel murmured, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair as he thought. “Even if true, how would that account for two of those effects becoming inverted?”

“One enchantment, actually,” Alexa corrected.  “And not even an ‘enchantment’ in the traditional sense.  I think what the amulet really is, is the physical anchor for a soul-siphon.  As such it connects the wearer’s soul to Mannimarco.  As long as Mannimarco’s soul was the more powerful of the two the effects of the soul-siphon worked in favor of the amulet’s wearer giving the wearer both a lich’s resistant to non-magical weapons and ability to absorb spells as well as some small amount of access to Mannimarco’s own facility with, and knowledge of, Conjuration.”

Earmiel just stared at her open-mouthed for a moment before shaking his head.  “And what would Mannimarco get from such an arrangement? That man never did anything that didn’t increase his own power.”

“I think the connection works both ways,” she answered.  “The wearer may gain a level of insight from Mannimarco but Mannimarco gained access to, and perhaps even influence over, whatever research the person wearing the amulet was doing.”

Earmiel considered that for a moment.  “You said ‘as long as Mannimarco’s soul was the more powerful of the two’... does that mean you believe the reason the amulet now drains vitality is because his soul has become weak?”

“Weaker than that of a dragonborn that had absorbed seven dragons?  Yes.  That I can confirm.  But I have not tested the amulet on another and so I cannot say for certain exactly how weak Mannimarco’s soul – wherever it may be – has become.”

Earmiel drummed his fingers for a moment.  “You know, the Imperial Mages Guild once claimed the Hero of Kvatch slew Mannimarco during the Oblivion Crisis?  Odd as I had been lead to believe Mannimarco achieve godhood during the Warp in the West.”

“He did,” she agreed. “But it didn’t last long.  The so-called ‘Miracle of Peace’ was the result of a Dragon Break caused by activating the Numidium.  Without the effects of the Numidium Mannimarco could not have ascended. Thus, when the jill mended the timeline – and removed the various ‘numiditions7’ that occurred during the Dragon Break – creating the Miracle of Peace, he was returned to what he had been: a lich.”

“Which is what he was when the Hero of Kvatch slew him,” Earmiel finished.

Alexa nodded.  “You’ll note that the Revenant Moon no longer appears in the sky and has not done so since the end of the Oblivion Crisis.”8

“A revenant twice over then. Returning not just from death but also godhood.9  How fitting,” Earmiel smirked before turning serious again.  “But you believe the energy the amulet absorbs is still going to Mannimarco – whatever is left of him – in some way?”

“I think it would be _very_ foolish to assume otherwise,” she replied. “There is also the distinct possibility, given the research subject of the man I obtained the amulet from, that Mannimarco is looking for a way to _make_ a new body.”

“Is that possible?” Earmiel asked, sudden dread causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end.

“I… don’t know.  There was something written in the man’s journal. He… thought it was an Aldmer text interpreted by the Ayleids but first transcribed by Altmer.”  She closed her eyes, searching for the memory.  “It said:

_star-scrying to the edge of the ice-mind_  
_look to the lights where the souls dance_  
_revealing the time when a spark will revive_  
_when the rotted united under most skillful hands_ ”10

“That doesn’t mean anything to me,” Earmiel admitted.

“Me neither,” Alexa sighed. “But… something itches in my mind. There’s a sort of resonance to the images I can’t explain.”  She lapsed into silence.

“I assume that you’ve already attempted to destroy the amulet?” Earmiel prompted when it seemed Alexa was not going to continue.

“If it could be easily destroyed something would have happened to it by now,” she pointed out. “Speaking of which, the dragon shrine, did you ever come to any conclusions on the temporal distortion vs. demiplane mystery?” she asked.

“You mean is your dragon hoard, and whatever else you’re planning to abandon there, still safe?” he smirked.  “Yes, I believe it is, in so far as I believe the shrine to be a _pocket_ -plane not a time anomaly.  I have further determined that the effect that increased the decomposition rate of the scholar’s corpse is present throughout Labyrinthian.  The only things I cannot yet explain are where the effect is coming from and why the Breton scholar’s Altmer associate would still be working on their project two years later.  Refresh my memory, if you would, how _did_ you run into him again?”

“The Altmer was at Forelhost where I killed my first dragon priest…” Alexa paused and then buried her face in her hands.  “Mother-fucker…”

Earmiel arched both eyebrows at that.  “Ye-es?”

“I have recently come to the realization that Hermaeus Mora has been taking a very active interest in my doings for some time now.”

“You think a daedric prince may have forced this Altmer to keep a note, detailing his plans, on his person for _two years_?” Earmiel asked, skeptically.

“Is it more likely that a Breton scholar, knowingly, came into possession of the only key to a dragon made pocket-plane, in Skyrim, at approximately the same time the Last Dragonborn took up residence in Riften and that this scholar’s Altmer associate should continue to attempt to acquire a single artifact, unsuccessfully, for _two years_ , or that the prince of Knowledge and Fate is attempting to orchestrate the dragonborn’s retrieval of the Konahrik mask?” Alexa asked.

“To what end?” Earmiel enquired.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged dismissively.  “Maybe It just wants to know what will happen when a dragonborn takes the mask for themselves?”

“Shouldn’t It already know that?”

She shook her head.  “The mask has never been worn.”

“There has to be more to this than wondering what enchantments the dragons placed upon it,” Earmiel pointed out.

“Oh, I’m fairly certain of that, I just don’t know what, exactly, that ‘more’ is likely to include.”

“Explain?”

Alexa considered him for a moment, her eyes wary.  Then she shrugged.  “The mask was part of a mythopoeic recreation that embraced all of Skyrim near the end of the Mythic Era.  I had thought the pattern completed with the dismemberment of Pelinal Whitestrake and Alessia taking the ruby throne.”  She paused for a moment head cocked slightly to one side.  “I suppose Talos might have been a variation on the same theme, which would suggest that the pattern was still strong enough, in the last years of the second era, to influence the events of a Real Moment.  Either way, I have no idea how much of the pattern is still viable.  I suppose it is possible Mora doesn’t know either.”

“And the mask plays into this how?” Earmiel asked patiently.

“Konahrik was created, and set aside, for the myth-echo of Shor the Dragon Cult needed to complete their recreation,” Alexa explained briefly.

“Is it possible Mora believes _you_ will need such an artifact if you are to defeat Alduin?” Earmiel asked.

“I am _not_ Lorkhan,” she told him with surprising vehemence.  “Talos was Lorkhan and,” she paused, eyes widening slightly in surprise, “… Alduin was trying to be Akatosh.”

“Clearly that means something to you,” Earmiel noted dryly.

“It means Miraak was, _is_ , Alduin,” she whispered, burying her face in her hands again.  “No wonder he refused to help save the world.”

“You’re suggesting that dragonborn are avatars of the dragon gods?”

“Avatars?” she asked, dropping her hands to give him a surprised look.  “No.  Echoes of the Time God I will accept, but even as Talos was not _born_ a Shezarrine our choices likely dictate which aspect of our source we take after… Though _clearly_ not the results of those choices, as the world saw when Talos became Trinimac.

“Talos became Trinimac?” Earmiel blinked a few times incredulously.  “Are you certain you’re not insane?”

“The warrior god of strength, honor, and unity, with a history of poor personal decision making?” Alexa asked with a small smile.  “Sounds a _little_ like Tiber Septim, doesn’t it?”

Earmiel frowned at her. “Ironic then that one of his worshipers started a civil war,” he noted dryly.

“The only things Ulfric worships are ego and power,” she responded.

Earmiel couldn’t argue with that.  “So you have come to believe that Lorkhan, Akatosh, and Alduin are three aspects of a single Time God?”

“Yes.”

“I never took you for the radical religious type.”

“It’s more of a philosophical standing than a religious one,” she countered.

“So the dead and missing god is no longer either dead or missing?”

Alexa made a face. “Not exactly.  Lorkhan, as the aspect of Time at its strongest within the Dawn, straddles the line between one kalpa and the next.  As such, only part of him was ever within the cycle.11

Earmiel drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he thought.  “So if Talos was Lorkhan, and he became Trinimac, does that mean Lorkhan no longer exists?” he asked.

“Within this kalpa cycle… quite possibly.  Though I would be willing to bet he still exists outside of it.”

“And if you kill Alduin – remove a second aspect of your proposed, singular, time god from this kalpa – what will that mean for the world?”

She shook her head. “Killing an avatar isn’t the same as absorbing a god’s essence and transmuting it into someone else.  But, to answer your question, I suppose it is possible that it is Akatosh’s goal to become the only Time God left within this cycle.”

“And what, from a functional perspective, would that mean?” Earmiel prodded.

“I don’t know.  I suppose it might mean that this cycle could last long enough to result in a new Amaranth.”

“A what?” he asked before he had time to note the look of surprise on Alexa’s face.

She shook her head looking as mystified by what she had said as he was.  “ _The worlding of the words is AMARANTH_ , Vivec, Sermon 37,” she whispered.  “That’s… all I know.”12

“All you know?” he objected. “But you just said…”

“I _know_ ,” Alexa snapped her voice causing the air between them to tremble.  She shrank away at that, leaning back into her chair, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand.  “I know,” she repeated quietly the fingers of her other hand gripping the arm of her chair with white knuckles.

“Dragon memory?” he asked gently.

“No,” she answered with a bitter little snort of laughter.  “As far as I can tell the dragons don’t know anything more about it than I do. I… need to meditate on it.”

“Is this happening a lot now?” Earmiel inquired, suddenly concerned.

“No.  Usually I know where the information in my head is coming from.  That one though… if it was a deduction I made on my own then I wasn’t aware of the thought process that preceded it.”  She took a deep, slow, breath.  “I was going to return to Winterhold, to drop off Keening, before heading to High Hrothgar,” she admitted.  “Now I think I’ll go do my time with the monks _before_ returning to the College.”

“I wholeheartedly support that decision,” Earmiel told her.  Not wanting to let the evening end on that kind of note he went on, “I was right about Snowhawk’s arena games, by the way.”

Alexa blinked at him, confused by his sudden change in topic.

“I thought I’d inform you of my brilliance since you’d very rudely failed to ask,” he sniffed.

“Oh?”

“Yes.  It seems they summoned all sorts of nasty things from Oblivion to fight in the games.”

“Was their choice to do so cause, or effect, of the local instability?” Alexa inquired, suddenly interested.13

“I’m glad you asked!” Earmiel beamed.

“Oh dear,” Alexa sighed. “It’s going to be a long night, isn’t it?”

“You have _no_ idea,” he replied cheerfully.  “I am a genius after all!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 About eight months ago now. (A1:35)
> 
> 2 Reference to the quest “The Steward’s Potion” given by Bothela at The Hag’s Cure. Given that Raerek pays you for for your discretion, upon delivery, it’s pretty clear this particular type of stamina potion is Elder Scrolls Viagra.
> 
> 3 Reference to a conversation you can overhear him having with Melaran.
> 
> 4 The Necromancer’s Amulet: It is the one flaw of the Amulet that it is unstable in this world forever doomed to fade in and out of existence, reappearing at locations distant from that of its disappearance. \- In-game description, TES I: Arena, and TES II: Daggerfall.
> 
> 5 “You have followed my guidance through the veils of Twilight and rescued my Star from Malyn Varen. But his soul still resides within, protected by enchantments. Until he is purged, my artifact is useless to you. Eventually, the Star will fade into my realm in Oblivion, but I doubt you have the hundred or so years it would take to wait.” – Azura, TES V: Skyrim
> 
> 6 Over the life of TES there have been two basic stat-blocks for this item. See table ([link](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48348642482_a7a912456a_b.jpg)).
> 
> 7 For original use of term see ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/nu-hatta-sphinxmoth-inquiry-tree)).  
> It is, I think, a portmanteau word combining “Numidium” and English word ending “-dition” which, itself, comes from Latin root dare ‘give’ and Latin participial stems ending –t+ion indicating action. So a “numidition” would be a timeline, or event, made possible only by use of the Numidium. As such, the jill would likely work to completely undo it as opposed to finding a way to integrate it into the timeline.
> 
> 8 There is no mention of the moon, anywhere, in TES V: Skyrim.
> 
> 9 “Revenant”: early 19th century French, literally ‘coming back’, present participle (used as a noun) of revenir. 
> 
> 10 Butcher Journal 2
> 
> 11 “This is how the Greedy Man became trapped both in and outside of kalpas.” - The Seven Fights of The Aldudagga: Fight One, "The Eating-Birth of Dagon"
> 
> 12 The term “Amaranth” also appears in Loveletter From the Fifth Era, The True Purpose of Tamriel ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/loveletter-fifth-era-true-purpose-tamriel)) and Michael Kirkbride’s post “Clarifying the nature of CHIM (01/15/10)” ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/forum-archives-michael-kirkbride)) the first of which Alexa will, very definitely, gain access to at some point.
> 
> 13 Ref. to A1:23.


	19. A Disquieting Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saarthal is stranger, and worse, than Alexa first thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early Spring, 4E 202

_After ten days of meditation…  
_ Alexa decided to visit Saarthal on her way back to the College. 

Upon arriving she was a little surprised to find the dig site completely deserted.  Not wanting to look a gift-horse in the mouth – the questions she had about the site would be easier to investigate if she didn’t have to justify what she was doing – Alexa took the shortcut, past the word wall, back to the room in which the orb had been found only to discover that the orb had been removed… which probably explained why no one from the College was at the site.  It was, however, a little surprising, and somewhat worrying, that the circle beneath it had been left behind.  Still, she reasoned as she cleared the table Jyrik Gauldurson had been sitting at for use as a desk, it would give her the chance to study the circle on its own without the power of the Orb overwhelming any lesser, or more subtle, enchantments the circle’s makers had worked into it.  She took out her journal and began to sketch.

There was something oddly Dwemer about the construction of the circle.  And though the substance it was made from looked much like aetherium glass, it was subtly different.  Like an early version of aetherium glass maybe?  But the Dwemer had never worked in these sorts of curves and etched circles… except they had.  The ebony Dwemer bow she’d found in Kagrumez, the absorb enchantment on which required no recharging, had similar circles etched into its surface.1  Perhaps such etchings were what was required to enchant a substance infused with the magically inert, but tonally volatile, aetherium?  Or, perhaps, the etchings were not a form of Dwemer magic at all but a type of magic that belonged to the Snow Elves?  Both Saarthal and Solstheim claimed a history with the ancient Falmer and the magics of the sun-obsessed elves might well have found cultural expression in mystical overlapping circles.  But there was no evidence of the Falmer ever working with aetherium.  A collaboration between the two, then?  Possibly.  But the writing, though familiar, wasn’t in a character set she recognized.  None of which even addressed how such a thing had ended up in the first city of the Nords in Tamriel.

Alexa gave an annoyed little sigh.  Well, if the Dwemer had had a hand in making the aetherium-glass circle Tones would have been involved in its creation…  She walked over to the circle, lay down in its center, closed her eyes, and _listened_.  Listened until she began to hear a single tone resonating through her.  An E so low she almost tasted rather than even felt it. There were other tones as well... vibrating in the shades of softly plucked cobwebs.  This place felt like a gap in the Pattern where, somehow, warp had become weft.

“What is this?” she asked softly.

 _Before the birth of Anui-El_ , a dragon’s memory supplied.  _There was no sound in the Void because Anu and Padomay resonated in antiphase to one another.  The birth of Anui-El created the first sound because Sithis rejected acting in antiphase to Anui-El.  Instead, Sithis simply refused to hear preferring the silence of deafness_2 _to that of cancelation.  In this way Anui-El’s Tone became the Warp of Creation._

“So this is an antiphase prison.  And that deep E is a true Warp Tone…” Alexa whispered, quickly rolling out of the circle of glass and onto the stone floor.  “What in Oblivion was someone doing that required the use of a _true_ Warp Tone?” she asked the memories but didn’t expect an answer.  Most of the dragons had been gone long before the tonal architects had gotten good enough for that sort of thing… if they ever had.  Which only made the questions as to whom exactly had made this prison and why a tonal artifact was buried in an ancient Nord city more pressing.

 _A thing out of place_ , Paarthurnax had said. 

“Out of place, or out of time?” she wondered aloud.  “And would a dragon know the difference?”  Suddenly she remembered where she had seen writing like this before: on the Oblivion side of the Black Books.

 _Where the Black Books actually came from... no one really knows_ , she practically heard Neloth’s distinctive voice as if he were standing over her shoulder.   _Some appear to have been written in the past, others might be from the future._

If a Black Book could be from the future, maybe something that utilized true Warp tones could too or, like the Dwemer, across kalpa?  As long as Ada-Mantia stood the Warp would remain.  Would something trapped within an antiphase True Warp Tone prison be preserved from one kalpa into the next just as the Towers were?  That was a terrifying thought.

She took out her tuning forks. 

* * *

The next morning, Alexa re-visited the room with the coffin ceiling.  Taking a seat on the center of the bridge, Alexa began to sketch.

A round room with twelve, evenly spaced, coffins lining the walls, seemed uncomfortably astral in nature. Furthermore a bridge over a pool of water, that was already covered by a grating, that wasn’t a trap, seemed pointless from an architectural standpoint and, therefore, important from a symbolic one.3  Still, her attempt to think of a bridge, of symbolic significance to Nords, had returned only one: the whalebone bridge of Sovenguard.  Whatever the explanation for the bridge was, she very much doubted it was that.

Alexa looked up.  Huh.  What she’d assumed, at first glance, was a domed ceiling might not be.  She threw a mage light as high as she could.  Not a dome but the inside of a shaft.  An underground tower?  What would be the purpose of that?

She looked down at the grating beneath her and saw... diamond patters, cut by a straight line, over an abyss of water.  Like stars through the Void?4  If so… then the Path of Magnus5 ran at a right angle from the bridge she was sitting on.  Were the people who passed through this room symbolically walking the path of the moons?6  Alexa glanced back up at the ceiling.  Certainly Lorkhan, as Shor, was the god of the dead... but that wouldn’t explain the coffins on the ceiling.

Her first impression of the room had been one of the inversion of a single concept – immortal-death in place of immortal-life.  An odd choice for necromancers, who usually sought to use the dead to their advantage in life, but – given the existence of liches – not an improbably conceptual leap. But, if the grate below her symbolized the stars, then this room represented not the corruption of a single concept but the inversion of the entire cosmos: materiality and death above with the stars and void below. 

This room, unlike the orb, was clearly of Nord construction, but of what era?  Jyrik Gauldurson hadn’t been a wizard much less a necromancer and had ended up as a draugr not a lich.  He had also, rather obviously, come to Saarthal for the Orb, not whatever _this_ was… 

Was it possible this room, and the orb, were connected in some way?

After another hour or so of documenting the room Alexa had found no answers to any of her questions. Clearly she was missing something. Something this room alone could not tell her.  Perhaps knowing the exact location of the room – if the shaft ever broke the surface – would be worthwhile?  She pulled out a compass and began to trace her way back to the door.

At the table overlooking the dig site Alexa calculated the combined distance she’d traveled underground, marked it on her map, and frowned at the results.7  The area indicated was unremarkable for the north shore of Skyrim except that it lay almost equidistant between two shrines of Talos and… the Tower Stone.

Cold fear settled over her.

“No,” she told the empty air around her.  “The Towers built by mer are constructed to mimic the shape of the cosmos.  There is no evidence of the planets here, just the stars.”  And the ones built by men? she asked herself.  Alexa stood still for a moment, eyes unfocused, as the chill wind bit through her Skaal clothing.

Meeko whined, calling her back to herself.

You are overthinking this, Alexa told herself sternly as she packed away her map, journal, and compass. Every Tower has a Stone8 – a focus for the power of the Tower...  Just then an image of the Orb, rotating within its magical prison, came suddenly to mind.  She shook her head.  Impossible. The Dwemer built Walking Brass and the Snow Elves lived in the shadow of Snow Throat.  Neither needed a Tower Stone nor would have constructed one for the Nords who built Saarthal… unless they’d constructed the orb, and its prison, for some other reason and the Nords had simply repurposed it?

Alexa shouldered her pack and began walking briskly in the direction of the College.  It was time to take a look at this orb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Image ([link](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48382990457_f8df437470_b.jpg))
> 
> 2 Michael Kirkbride - IRC Q&A Sessions, October 17th  
> Q: In musical terms, would you say that the Void is subgradiated noise, pure silence, or something else entirely?  
> A: I would say it's deafness. Which is why people that travel there get sensorily unraveled.
> 
> 3 Images of room ([link](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48366333186_2ee4db7198_b.jpg))
> 
> 4 The stars are holes torn in the fabric of the barrier between the Void and Aetherius by the Magna-ge fleeing Mundus. “Cosmology” ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/cosmology)) and “Mysteries of the Mundus Stones” ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/mysteries-mundus-stones))
> 
> 5 See image. ([link](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48369308697_cd6290418a_b.jpg))
> 
> 6 See image. ([link](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48369308947_860ff30af3_b.jpg))
> 
> 7 My best guess. ([link](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48366276401_5fbfbcf9a3_b.jpg))
> 
> 8 Nu-Mantia Intercept, Letter 7 ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/nu-mantia-intercept-letter-7))


	20. A Return to Academic Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexa is reminded of what it means to be a grad student.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early Spring, 4E 202

“A moment,” Faralda began, stopping Alexa on the bridge. 

“Is something wrong?” Alexa asked her.

“I just wanted to let you know that Ancano’s been asking about you,” she informed the Breton student turned master in a conspiratorially low tone.  “I think he’s looking for you.”

“Why would Ancano be looking for me?” Alexa asked, shaken out of her now thoroughly congealed dread by the improbability that the Advisor would lower himself to ask after her.

“I’m not sure,” the master of destruction magic replied.  “Just… Well, mind what you tell him, all right?”

“Is something wrong?” Alexa asked, suddenly concerned.

“No, no,” Faralda swiftly reassured her.  “Well, I don’t _think_ so.  Between the two of us, there are _rumors_ about him.  That this advisor position he has is a sham, an excuse.  That what he’s really doing here is spying for the Thalmor, trying to feed them information.  Whether it’s true, I can’t say.  But it never hurts to be a little suspicious, does it?”

Alexa nodded.  Either Faralda was being a lot more circumspect than Alexa would have been in her place or the Advisor had been a great deal more careful about not letting his mask slip around her than he’d been around Alexa.  “Thanks for the warning.”

“Your welcome,” Faralda replied with a slight smile.  “It is good you’re back,” she added, taking a step back to allow Alexa past.  “It will give Tolfdir someone new to bounce ideas off of.”  

* * *

After dropping her stuff in her room Alexa climbed the stairs to the second floor of the Hall of Attainment and knocked on the archway into Arniel’s room.

“What?” Arniel’s demanded before glancing up from his desk.  He visibly brightened upon seeing her.  “Oh, hello again.”

She stepped into the room.  “I have the object from Morrowind you’ve been waiting for.”

“The dagger...?” he gasped, jumping to his feet in surprise and practically grabbing it from her hands. “By Akatosh, they didn’t even wrap it correctly!”  He glanced up at her, worry evident on his face.  “You didn’t touch it did you?  Well no, of course, you must have!  And you’re not dead?  Gods, it’s a wonder it’s in one piece!”

“How goes the rest of your preparations?” Alexa asked patiently, actually a little touched that he had taken even the briefest of moments to be concerned for her wellbeing.

“Terrible, just terrible,” Arniel groaned.  “I vastly underestimated the heat transfer necessary, and have destroyed my only working model.  I’m at a loss.”

“So the soul gem didn’t work?” she guessed.

“Well, yes. I mean, no. That is, it might, but I’m not _completely_ sure.  I’m no tonal architect, I’ve only read their writings.  Scraps, really.  The soul gem by itself isn’t enough, you see.  It needs to be altered, purified.  The dwarves had machines for this sort of thing.  I attempted to build my own, based on designs and using parts you helped to provide.  My very own Dwarven Convector.  It worked, but not fully.  And the uhh...  The device was destroyed in the process.”

“I see.  That is unfortunate,” Alexa agreed.

“Well, yes.  The designs for my convector were based on real dwarven machines, so there may still be some in existence…”

“And you would like me to go see if I can find one,” Alexa concluded for him.

Arniel looked a little embarrassed at that.  “I’d go looking myself, but uhh...  Yes, there are calculations to double- and triple-check.  Many calculations.  Perhaps you could seek out these Convectors in Skyrim ruins?  I can even teach you the spell to heat them.  It’s very particular and very important.”

“Do you have a drawing or description of these ‘convectors’ that will help me identify them?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, of course. Here.”  He handed her a blueprint off his desk.

Alexa considered the blueprint for a moment.  She had seen several similar machines in her exploration of Skyrim’s ruins.  She glanced at Arniel’s worktable.  Pieces of his device were clearly strewn across it. None of them appeared to contain Aetherium… which probably accounted for its failure.1  While she had no doubt of her ability to find the Convectors… “It may be several weeks before I have time to devote to this endeavor,” she gently informed Arniel.

“Weeks?” he repeated, dismayed. 

“I’m intending to return to Solstheim in the next few days,” Alexa explained.

“Oh,” he sighed, looking a little crestfallen.  “Well, I suppose it will have to do.  You are the only one I would trust with this task.”

“Give me the gem then and I’ll take it with me just in case I find one of these convectors on Solstheim.”

“Wonderful, just wonderful!” Arniel exclaimed, handing it over.  “I knew I could count on you!  And take care,” he continued beginning to hustle her out of his room.  “Wouldn’t want you to not make it back!”  The moment she was back in the central space Arniel turned his back on her and went back to what he’d been doing.

Alexa shook her head in bemused wonder and headed back down the stairs.  The other students, she noticed, upon reaching the first floor, were all busy elsewhere.  Tolfdir, however, was in.

“Can I get a moment of your time?” she asked, standing in the doorframe.

“You’re back,” Tolfdir smiled, looking up from the book he was writing in.  “Did you come across anything interesting while out on your adventures?”

“I went back to Saarthal,” she offered.  “I noticed the orb has been moved.”

“We put it in the Hall of the Elements for ease of study,” Tolfdir told her.  “I’ll be heading back there myself in just a moment.  If you’re interested in the research we’ve already done on it you should talk to Phinis Gestor.  He gave a lecture on our progress with the Eye only a few days ago. You should find him in the Arcanaeum at this time of day.”

Alexa nodded.  “Thank you for your time, Master Gane.”

The old man smiled at her. “I am always ready to talk with a fellow master.  If you would, however, accept a word of wisdom from someone with more experience of the College than yourself?”

“Of course,” she answered politely.

“The other members of the College are not going anywhere, and I do not believe the world will end if you take a moment for yourself before going to speak with them,” he informed her with a knowing smile.

Alexa glanced down at her muddy armor and smiled at that.  “I shall take it into consideration.”  

* * *

An hour later, having eaten, bathed, and changed into her robes, Alexa was sorting through the contents of her pack when Mirabelle Ervine cornered her.

“You should know,” the Master Wizard began, “that both the Synod and the College of Whispers have recently made inquiries of the College here in Winterhold.”

Alexa cocked her head to one side, questioningly, but said nothing.

“Aren,” Mirabelle continued, “believed that their initial communications were politically motivated. The College has – until recently – managed to avoid any direct meetings with either group.  Have either attempted to contact you?”

“No.  When I left Cyrodiil I made certain they believed me dead. Neither group is likely to connect their dead student with the new dragonborn.”

“Well, if either group _does_ contact you directly, please let me know. And, should you run into them in person, please do what you can to avoid compromising the College’s neutrality.”

“Is that likely?” Alexa asked.

“A few months back a few mages from the Synod showed up here looking for powerful artifacts and demanding to know what we had to hand,” Mirabelle admitted.  “We sent them away, of course, but I do not believe they returned to Cyrodiil.”

“Any idea where they went?” Alexa asked, a suspicion beginning to form in her mind.

“They inquired about the ruins of Mzulft, but that’s all I remember.  At the time it sounded like they were heading there, though they were rather secretive about why.”

Alexa nodded slowly. “Well, with the ‘Eye of Magnus’ here, their presence in Skyrim might be something to keep in mind.”

“The ‘Eye of Magnus’?” Mirabelle objected.  “I can appreciate that this... thing you found, this orb...  It’s very impressive.  Very unique, and definitely worth studying.  But let’s not jump to any conclusions, or assign it importance beyond what we’re certain of.”

“Oh, I agree.  It’s just what Tolfdir indicated the College was calling it.  If he was wrong, or I misunderstood what he said, I apologize.  Still, if mages from the Synod have gone to Mzulft, you should be prepared for them to come knocking again.”

Mirabelle frowned. “Why?”

“Because the Dwemer built Mzulft to study varliance.  Part of that study included mapping its sources.  It would not take much – if one had the resources – to modify the system to map ground-based sources of magicka instead.”

“And you know this how?”

“I wrote the preliminary study on Mzulft for the Synod.”

Mirabelle’s frown deepened. “I will inform the Arch-Mage.”

Alexa held up the book she’d been intending to take to Urag.  “Is there anything else I can do for the Master Wizard?”

“How long will you be staying this time?”

“Two, three days at most. Why?”

“I believe the Arch-Mage assigned you a task before you left the College the last time.”

“Has no one else been able to speak with Urag about the orb?” Alexa asked in surprise.

“Urag indicates the books we need were stolen by a previous student and gifted to a particularly dangerous group of Summoners.  Given your skills, it seems to me you are the member of the College most likely to be successful in retrieving them.  I understand that you have been busy with being dragonborn but that does not negate your responsibilities as a member of the College.  If the Arch-Mage has asked you to do something, you should do it.”

Alexa gave her an amused look.  “I understand.”

“Good,” Mirabelle said, stepping aside for her.  “Now please go speak with Urag, as the Arch-Mage asked.”

* * *

After trading the book from the Dwemer airship for a note with the location of another book, a translation of the second of Shalidor’s manuscripts, the location of a third manuscript, and where to find the Summoners who had the books the former student had stolen, Alexa discovered that Phinis Gestor was, indeed, in the Arcanaeum. 

“The people of Skyim have no appreciation for what we do here,” Phinis muttered at her approach, without looking up from his book.  “Not that I care."

“Not particularly surprising given that the College has spent no time at all informing them of what it is we do,” she pointed out, taking a seat on the other side of the table from his. 

Phinis glanced up in irritation, saw who was addressing him, started in genuine surprise and swallowed nervously.  “Can I help you, dragonborn?”

“What can you tell me about the orb from Saarthal?” Alexa asked, getting straight to the point.

“I already covered that in my lecture five days ago,” he stuttered.

“I was at High Hrothgar five days ago,” she told him.  “Could you recap it for me?”

“Oh, of course, my mistake.” He cleared his throat.  “Several projects are currently underway to discern the origin and nature of the orb.  Any and all theories are currently being considered.  If you have any ideas I am certain Mirabelle would be interested in hearing about them.”

“Why is it being called ‘the Eye of Magnus’?” she inquired.

Phinis shook his head. “The orb practically radiates magicka of a type outside the experience of the faculty.”2

“Practically radiates?” Alexa cut in.  “Meaning it doesn’t _actually_ radiate it?”

Phinis gave her a quick sideways glance.  “If one is attuned enough one can feel the presence of magicka within the orb – at a distance of several meters3 – even though the magicka itself is contained and so unavailable for use.  But, be that as it may, at this time there is no indication that the object is, in fact, a physical part of Magnus, the god of magic.”

“Then where is the rumor coming from?”

Phinis looked a little uncomfortable at that.  “Well, it _has_ been suggested that one explanation for the amount of magicka the orb appears to contain would be that the object is a gateway to the realm of Aetherius,” he explained, without actually answering her question.  “But nothing has proven that idea one way or the other,” he added hurriedly. 

“That seems like something of a logical leap,” Alexa noted.

“It has also been proposed that the orb is, in fact, the entirety of Aurbis in one physical space,” Phinis went on, his tone becoming surprisingly animated.  “This would, of course, mean that Tamriel, indeed all of Mundus, is actually contained within the sphere!  It further suggests that we are somehow outside our own existence while looking in at it…” he paused, suddenly appearing to register the look of surprise on her face.  He cleared his throat.  “While the idea seems dubious at best, it has not, at present, been entirely ruled out.”

Alexa considered him for a moment as she tried to imagine what, in all the realms of Oblivion, would have lead to that particular assertion.  “And what gave someone _that_ impression?” she asked him.

“Tolfdir says that, while alone with it in the ruins, the panels of the orb, very briefly, opened up and he saw inside it,” Phinis answered, sounding a little defensive.  “Perhaps you should talk to _him_ about it.”

“Of course,” Alexa whispered.  An image of all of Mundis within the orb… Was this further inversion: a Tower where the Stone was the cosminach and the tower was merely the focus for the energy of the Stone?4  What would it indicate about the Tower’s purpose or the way in which it functioned? Alexa rose to her feet. 

“Thank you for your time,” she murmured to Phinis with a nod before taking the stairs down to the Hall of the Elements and the waiting Eye. 

* * *

The dragonborn hadn’t moved from her spot on the floor, in front of the “Eye of Magnus”, in several hours. Ancano knew because he’d been there, watching her draw, for most of it.  It was late now and all the others who sought to gain knowledge of this _thing_ had gone to bed.

Her sketches followed the same pattern as her Dwemer ones had.  The object from all sides came first followed by an exploded-view diagram to indicate how the pieces might, in this case, fit together and, lastly, individual drawings of each piece in minute detail.  Hard to do as the thing never stopped spinning.

“Your rendering of the script is very precise,” he remarked, standing behind her and peering down at her journal.  “Like you’re writing it rather than drawing it,” he noted casually.

“I’ve seen the alphabet before,” she told him without looking up.

“You have?  And where might that have been?”

“In Apocrypha.”5

“You’ve been to Apocrypha?”

“I needed to know how a dragon priest, dead for several millennia, could have living followers, much less order them to kill me,” she reminded him.  “Mora offered to tell me.”

“And did It?”

“In a manner of speaking. As is, apparently, typical, Its answer only left me with more questions and a headache.”

Ancano sneered slightly in irritation.  While that did seem fairly normal for interactions with Hermaeus Mora it didn’t really answer his question.  “Can you read this writing, _dragonborn_?”

“No,” she answered.

“Any thoughts on this object you think you should _share_?”

“Are you asking me to _speculate,_ Advisor?”

“I am lead to believe you have absorbed the knowledge of several dragons,” he told her condescendingly. “Surely that is good for something?”

“I have two, equally stupid, theories,” she informed him.  “I hadn’t thought either of them worth making myself sound like an idiot over.”

“I promise not to think any less of you,” Ancano told her dryly.

She grimaced slightly at that and then shrugged in apparent acceptance.  “Each of the early languages, as I’m sure you know, embodied a concept and their use was an expression of that concept.  As with so many things in this world they seem to have come in pairs the combination of which is descriptive of our world.  For example, Aedric is the language of Creation while Daedric the language of Destruction.  Similarly, the oldest of all languages, that of the Elder Scrolls, is the language of Potential – an expression of the Void before creation when all things were still possible.  Since it comprises an infinite number of possibilities the language itself is unknowable which is why the contents of an unwritten Elder Scroll imprints itself upon the mind as visions, not words.  Dovahzul, the language of the dragons, on the other hand, while commonly believed to be the language of Domination is actually the language of…” she paused briefly, as if searching for a word, “uth, meaning something like ‘order’ or ‘command’, but also indicating the moment a choice has been made – a limiting of possibilities.  As such it provides the counterpoint to the language of the Elder Scrolls.”

“And _this_ script?” Ancano demanded wearily.  “You think it is an otherwise unknown early language?”

“Possibly.  Since the only other place I have seen this alphabet used is within Apocrypha my first theory is that this,” she gestured toward the Eye, “could be the language of Knowledge.  I’m afraid though I cannot tell you what it is called, where it comes from, if it has ever been spoken, or even if it truly exists outside of the realm of Knowledge and Fate.  I _can_ tell you that, in the case of the artifacts of Hermaeus Mora written in it, reading them is dangerous in much the same way reading an Elder Scroll is.  Whether that is due to the script, or the contents of an artifact of the daedric prince of knowledge, I can’t say.”

“And you have dismissed this theory?”

“If there were a language, from the period of Manifest Metaphors, which embodied the concept of Knowledge, its counterpoint would also exist.  A language for Ignorance seems… improbable.  Also, if a language of Knowledge existed, surely Shalidor would have used it in his work.  But the manuscripts of his I have retrieved for the College are not written in their own language but use a cipher script that was not uncommon to magic texts of his time.”

“And your second theory?” Ancano asked, managing to sound unimpressed.

“That it’s a language from outside time and that thing got here via a dragon break.”  She shrugged.  “Equally stupid, I know.  I did warn you.”

He cocked his head at that and considered her for a moment.  “I assume you have some reason for thinking that is even a possibility?”

She glanced up at him in surprise.  “Can’t you hear the Tones?  I mean, I know the humans can’t, but I’ve been watching J’zargo’s fur stand on end every time he walks by and Brelyna’s just avoiding the place.”

“And if I were a tonal architect I’m certain I would know _exactly_ what they mean and be able to miraculously intuit why they would make a human, who can’t hear them, think the artifact creating them was from the Dawn.”

“Some of the residual sub-harmonics taste like Time,” she told him flatly.  “Surprising as it appears to be made of aetherium glass – but not Dwemer metal – and Dwemer work tends to taste a little like a _lack_ of time, since they tuned everything to experience time at a slower rate than the rest of the world.”

“And what is it that Time tastes of?” he demanded imperiously.

“Snozzberries,” she replied with a slight eye roll.  “Time tastes like Time, what else would it taste of?”

“Does the Second Emissary accept this sort of lip from you?” Ancano asked halfway between disdain and anger.

“I think he believes it is to be expected when dealing with a champion of Sheogorath,” she replied unaffected by his clear irritation.

There was silence as she added the finishing touches to the last of her drawings.  “I’m told you were looking for me earlier.  Was there something you wished to discuss other than requesting I explain the inexplicable?”

“I merely wanted to enquire as to when you were going to get around to that research assignment the Archmage set you.”

“There are three other students, and any number of other college members, capable of talking to Urag. Including you,” she pointed out. “Besides I was intending to leave for Solstheim in the next day or two.  I’ve have already been away longer than I intended.”

“Surely this is more interesting?”

“More interesting but less pressing.  That thing is not currently trying to kill me.”  She stood up, dusting herself off.  “You know, there’s a rumor going around that you’re not here as an advisor but as a spy.”

“Preposterous, and just the sort of thing I would expect from mages who have nothing better to do with their time.  I have made it quite clear that my only role here is as an advisor to the Arch-Mage. I would suggest that you not further spread this rumor.”

“Maybe if you _loomed_ a bit less, or did any research of your own, people wouldn’t be quite so suspicious?”

He snorted.  “I suppose the irony that they chose to confide their suspicions to the true Thalmor spy in their midst is lost on you.”

“Not at all,” she smiled. “But I fear my lack of knowledge about what the Thalmor would find interesting renders me somewhat less effective than a person like yourself.  Though I suppose the irony that the Second Emissary managed to subvert the dragonborn right out from under your nose is lost on _you_?”

“The Second Emissary is not my concern,” Ancano hissed, leaning in threateningly.  “The College of Winterhold is.  You may report anything you discover _outside_ the College to the Second Emissary but you _will_ report anything of interest from within the College itself to me.  Is that clear?”

“Such hostility, Advisor,” she murmured.  “And here I had thought I’d shown myself perfectly willing to give you my opinion on any question you wish to ask.”

“Have the Psijics made contact again?”

“No.”

“Good.  What is Arniel Gane working on?”

“The disappearance of the Dwemer.”

That surprised him.  “Not aetherium?”

“Ohh, you have been snooping through my things, haven’t you?” she laughed.  “But no and, before you ask, I still have not located a key to Blackreach and Arniel is not interested in _practical_ things like enchantments that do not require recharging. Enchantment’s really more Sergius Turrianus’ thing anyway.”

“I suppose it is,” Ancano not quite snarled.  “Now, would you _please_ go speak with the Orc in the library?”

“It should please you to know that I have already done so,” she said, bowing slightly, before turning towards the door.  “Oh, and, Advisor,” she paused, looking back at him over her shoulder.  “It is usually best be at least a _little_ suspicious of research notes academics leave in places their fellows might have access to.”

Watching her walk away, as sudden doubt mixed with chagrin coiled uncomfortably in his belly, Ancano realized, for the first time, exactly how much he truly _hated_ the Second Emissary and his dragonborn _pet_.

* * *

Outside, in the cold, Alexa took a deep, slow, breath to re-center herself.  In Saarthal she had wondered if the creators of the orb had used Tones in its construction.  Her examination of the glass circle that still remained in Saarthal had indicated that they had.  Her time spent with the orb, however, indicated that the reason the various members of the College could not identify the type of magicka it contained was because the magicka was thu’umanic in nature.  A Tonal artifact infused with thu’umanic energy… what the exact implications were would require some thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Convector image ([link](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48366943247_24be11f315_o.jpg)).
> 
> 2 Reference to Tolfdir’s description of the orb in the quest “Good Intentions”.
> 
> 3 TES has referred to both meters and yards as units of measurement. Meters seems to be slightly more common. 
> 
> 4 Nu-Mantia Intercept, Letters #7 and #8
> 
> 5 Image ([link](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48400338987_bb9bb10821_b.jpg))
> 
>  
> 
>  **** Author’s Note:**  
>  Much of this chapter is in-game dialogue that I have filled out a bit in an attempt to clarify some things the game hinted at but never outright addressed.


	21. Ancano Has a Bad Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexa indulges in some comic relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early Spring, 4E 202

4:00 AM (precisely): Ancano woke just the same as he did every morning.

4:01 – 4:05 AM: Ancano made his bed.

4:06 – 4:20 AM: Ancano washed his face, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair.

4:21 AM: Ancano removed a clean set of robes from his wardrobe.

4:25 AM: Ancano stared in horror and disbelief at the front of his robe.  It wouldn’t close properly!  And the leggings, he had to admit now, were uncomfortably tight!  No, no-no, NO!  This couldn’t be happening to him.  No well-bred mer would allow himself to lose his perfect, stately, figure in this way!

Ancano closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose to calm himself.  No.  It was impossible he’d gained weight literally overnight.  Maybe something had happened to his robe?

He pulled his second clean robe out of the wardrobe.  It didn’t fit properly either!  He’d suspect one of the students if any of them were capable of this much fineness with magic.  They were not.  Not that he’d ever heard of a spell to shrink clothing, but there was no saying what perversities students were capable of.  There had been that event with the apples, after all.  He removed his dirty robes from the basket in the corner, from which the College’s one cleaning lady would have taken it, around noon, for washing.1 He glared at the small wine stain on its collar with loathing. 

It didn’t fit right either! He was panicking enough now that he failed to notice that the first had smelt slightly of dwarven oil and his current robe smelled faintly singed.2  At least his boots and gloves still fit.

4:45 AM Ancano walked, stiffly, out of the Hall of Attainment, across the bridge, picked up his horse from the tavern, and headed for Solitude.  There was no way he would ever let Elenwen know about this and, with any luck, the ladies at Radiant Raiment could be paid for their silence.

* * *

“What was that all about?” Brelyna asked blearily from her bed after Ancano stormed out, stride hampered by restrictive leggings.

“From what this one observed, this one believes the Advisor’s clothing did not fit him as he felt it should,” J’zargo commented.

“I’m surprised he didn’t just assume the launderer had spoiled them,” Onmund grumbled, his tone as bleary as Brelyna’s.

“Maybe he has gone to complain to her now?” J’zargo suggested.

“He would have taken them with him if that were true,” Brelyna pointed out.  “And Thalmor robes are leather.  You can’t shrink leather the way you would wool.”

There was a short silence and then the sound of three students getting out of bed and crossing the central space to stand in Alexa’s room.

“I’m asleep,” she told them without opening her eyes.

“Khajiit would like to know how you accomplished this,” J’zargo purred.

“He’s not the only one,” Onmund muttered.

“What makes you think _I_ did it?” Alexa demanded, opening one eye.

“You’re the only one crazy enough to outright _prank_ a Thalmor?” Brelyna offered.

“Enthir,” Alexa countered before rolling over and pulling her vale-cat fur blanket over her head.

“Oh no, no-no,” J’zargo chuckled.  “This one is not going away so easily.  Not after you got so far ahead in the count by publishing _my_ story.”

She lifted her blanket slightly to peer out from under it.  “Then I hope you like that chair because I’m not admitting to this one.  No matter how epic it was.” 

* * *

"This one has accepted your invitation to retrieve library books stolen by a naive – former – student, and a rare text from some Silverdrift place,” J’zargo grumbled as they made their way out of Winterhold later the same day.  “But wishes, in exchange, for you to explain how you shrank the Advisor’s clothing.”

“I didn’t,” she replied. “I switched them out while he slept.”

“That does not explain where you got smaller robes,” the khajiit pointed out.

“It does not,” she agreed.

J’zargo hissed in frustration and was silent for a while. 

“This one believes it would be difficult to purchase Thalmor robes,” he announced, suddenly, a few miles later.  “And so has concluded that there may now be _two_ Thalmor without clothes in Skyrim.”

“Just two?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

J’zargo’s eyes narrowed and his tail twitched.  “This one is now wondering how it is you got them out of their clothing in the first place,” he informed her.

Alexa just laughed and kept walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 _Someone_ in Skyrim must do the laundry and I very much doubt that person is Ancano.
> 
> 2 "Faintly singed", see A3:14, 3.  
> Where, in the last few weeks, might Alexa have procured a Thalmor robe - to complete the number of sets she needed - that smells “slightly of dwarven oil”, I wonder?


	22. Favor for a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ondolemar is not above using Earmiel for his connections.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early Spring, 4E 202

Ondolemar burst into Earmiel’s house in Morthal and slammed a book down on the table in front of him.

“Something wrong?” Earmiel asked mildly.

“You mean aside from the fact a Thalmor asset may have been purposefully provoked, by his handler, into bringing about the literal end of the world, no, everything’s fine, why do you ask?”

Earmiel gave his friend a particularly skeptical look.

Ondolemar flipped the book open and pointed to a portion of text.

“Hmm,” Earmiel murmured taking the book from Ondolemar.  “Prophecy of the Dragonborn; interesting _and_ topical.  Let's see… Line one, probably the Imperial Simulacrum.  Line two, the Warp in the West.  Line three, clearly the fall of the Tribunal and the eruption of Red Mountain. Line four, the Oblivion Crisis, obviously.  Line five… I suppose ‘Snow Tower’ _might_ have something to do with Skyrim - ‘sundered, kingless, bleeding,’1 does sound about right.  Line six… World-Eater.  That sounds pretty bad and we certainly have a dragonborn even if there’s no telling if she’s the last or not.”  He locked eyes with Ondolemar.  “Alright, Dolly, you have my attention.”

“That black dragon that attacked Helgan, Alexa says he’s this World-Eater, the first child of Auri-El meant to bring an end to this kalpa.”

“The Wheel turns indeed,” Earmiel murmured in surprise.  “The Nords are such a strange race,” he reflected, leaning back in his chair.  “Even their prophecies are ridiculously literal.”

“You’re missing the point,” Ondolemar snapped, as Earmiel picked the book up and began to flip through its pages.

“There’s a point here besides: the end is nigh, everyone panic?” Earmiel asked him examining a few of Alexa’s marginal notes.

“The point is that Elenwen actively goaded Ulfric into killing Torygg.”

“Did she now…  And how well known is this little prophecy?” he asked, unfolding a piece of paper that had been stuck between two pages.

“Apparently _quite_ ,” Ondolemar responded, clearly feeling Earmiel wasn’t paying enough attention to what he was saying.

Earmiel tapped one finger rhythmically on the table in front of him while he thought.  The note appeared to be in one of the older Thalmor ciphers.  It would probably take him some time to remember how the cipher worked and decode it.  “If Ulfric feels responsible for the return of the dragons that might explain why he’s even more ‘generally uncooperative’ these days,” he offered finally.

“I’m not going to ask how you know about that,” Ondolemar told his friend.

“Yes.  It’s really best you don’t.  I have the most disreputable sources.  I suppose this means you want to know if Elenwen’s decision to have Ulfric kill Torygg came from higher up or was her own terribly ill-informed notion?”

“If the Thalmor are involved in a deliberate plot to end the world…”

“That would look very bad indeed…” Earmiel agreed, holding up the note he’d been examining.  “Do you know what this says?”

“No.  It’s written in a cipher of some sort.  I assumed you could figure it out.  You used to be good at that sort of thing.”

“Dolly, this is a Thalmor cipher from the late Second Dominion,”2 Earmiel informed him.  “Where did you get this?”

“The book is Alexa’s,” Ondolemar replied.

“Tell me you haven’t been reduced to going through her things!” he gasped to hide his surprise.

“Don’t be absurd,” Ondolemar sniffed.  “I simply asked her what it meant to be dragonborn and she gave me the book. Said she’d get it back from me the next time she’s in Markarth as it’s where she keeps all her own notes on the subject.”

“And a Thalmor piece from long before any of us were born belongs in that category?” Earmiel muttered and then sighed dramatically.  “Sometimes I wonder where she even finds these things.  Give me a few days to go through everything.”  He gave the book, and it’s many extra pages of inserted notes, a look of consideration.  “I hope those aren’t _all_ in code.”

“I also need you to find out about _this_ for me,” Ondolemar, announced, holding out a single page note to Earmiel.

“And who is this Sikendra de’Arthe that she warrants either your attention or an order of execution?” Earmiel asked, glancing at the note’s contents.  Then it hit him.  “Wait, don’t tell me.  It’s Alexa isn’t it?” 

Ondolemar arched an eyebrow and Earmiel rolled his eyes.  His friend definitely needed to broaden his interests, or at least his area of knowledge.  “Sikendra is, originally, an Aldmer name.  The Breton form is Alexandra.  Alexa for short.”  He looked back down at the order in his hands, examining it carefully.  “However did they come to a decision on her, much less dig up her real name, so quickly?” Earmiel wondered aloud.  And why did it sound familiar?

“Even more quickly than you think.  She claims she pulled that off a dead Justiciar more than a month ago.  The most interesting part is that I haven’t lost a man in more than _four_ months.”

Earmiel quirked an eyebrow.  “Internal politics, or something she did before coming to Skyrim?” he asked abruptly.

“That is the question, yes,” Ondolemar replied snidely. 

“No need to be touchy,” he remarked, going back to looking over the order in minute detail.  “We both know your average Justiciar doesn’t stand a chance against pretty little Lexi.”

“Earmiel, if that order were above board, the Commander of whatever jurisdiction it originated in _should_ have contacted me when his people crossed into my territory.  They didn’t. I’d like to know why.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that.  Truthfully I am a bit surprised she gave this to you,” Earmiel noted.

“There were – extenuating – circumstances,” Ondolemar replied shortly.

“Do tell.”

“She may have felt the need to explain why keeping me at arms length is doing me a favor.”

“Ouch,” Earmiel commented without so much as sparing a glance for his friend.  “I’d offer my sympathies but you don’t appear to want them. Instead, I will just say that there are _other_ reasons you may wish to let her walk away.”

“Like what?”

Earmiel folded the execution order carefully before placing it inside the Book of the Dragonborn.  “Like who her husband is.”

“If you’re about to tell me she married a daedric prince, I already know.”

Earmiel looked up at him in surprise.  “And you still went for it?  I’m impressed.”

Ondolemar grimaced at him but said nothing.

“Where are you heading that you could use it as an excuse to come here?” Earmiel asked, changing the subject.

“The launderer has misplaced one of my robes,” Ondolemar replied, irritation clear in his tone.

Earmiel arched an eyebrow. That sounded fairly contrived. “Really?”

“Really,” Ondolemar confirmed.  “While I doubt the woman in question means any harm – and she claims she returned all my clothes and so my robe must have been stolen from my rooms rather than from her – it is still necessary that I inform the Embassy that someone with designs against the Dominion may now have access to an official Emissary uniform.”

“Intriguing…” Earmiel commented.  “Though there are not that many in Skyrim who could take full advantage of such apparel,” he pointed out.3

“True,” Ondolemar allowed with a sigh.  “I fear that I will never fully understand, or be able to anticipate, these people.”

 

* * *

 

It was nearly two in the morning when the person Earmiel had contacted arrived.  An Altmer in his late middle age he wore his white hair _very_ long and tied near the ends with a complicated set of knots.  Though simple, due to the length of his hair, it was not a style that could be achieved without help.  The older mer also dressed with a simplicity that anyone not conversant with either the intricacies of certain types of apparel, or value of particular Summerset fabrics, might have been deceived into believing indicated either personal modesty or a lack of status.  Earmiel, however, knew better.4

“You know it’s not particularly safe to meet in places like this without partaking in the festivities,” Earmiel’s contact remarked with such a complete lack of censure in his tone that Earmiel was _certain_ his every move was being cataloged for future, critical, analysis.

“Something tells me that Sanguine will let it go, this time,” Earmiel replied, handing over the execution order.

The older mer glanced quickly at the order, and actually _blinked_ in surprise, before returning his attention to Earmiel.  “Sikendra de’Arthe is in Skyrim?”

“The dragonborn?” Earmiel asked, confused by the other mer’s uncharacteristically strong reaction. “Where else would she be?”

“Sikendra is the dragonborn?”

Earmiel hesitated briefly. Something here was off.  “You _know_ her?” he inquired carefully.

“In passing,” the older mer admitted, folding up the orders and slipping them into a pocket.  “She was a notable magical prodigy in High Rock while I was stationed there.”

“That sounds like her,” Earmiel admitted, his eyes searching the other mer’s face just in case his expression let something else slip.  It didn’t.

“What is your purpose for bringing this situation to my attention?”

“Ondolemar was not informed when the Justiciars tasked with carrying out this order entered Skyrim. He has questions I will need answers to and…” Earmiel hesitated, uncertain of exactly how much he could ask for.

“You want it dealt with,” the older mer finished for him.

“This is clearly off book,” Earmiel pointed out.  “If the person who wrote this order were to die…”

“All their authorized off-book operations would be suspended, pending review, and anything truly unauthorized would simply disappear,” the other mer nodded.  “I’ll see what can be done.  As for Ondolemar…” he paused infinitesimally.  “This order’s probably been following Sikendra around for some time.  Keeping him busy with it shouldn’t be difficult.”

“Information likely to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation would also be of value,” Earmiel added.

“You think he is not taking it seriously?”

“I think it likely he has made some inaccurate assumptions about the origin of this order,” he clarified.

“Do _you_ know what is going on?” the older mer inquired with the faintest hint of skepticism in his voice.

“No,” Earmiel admitted, biting back a sour retort.  “But I doubt it has anything to do with Ondolemar.”

“I will keep that in mind,” the older mer said, taking a step away from Earmiel, indicating their conversation was at an end.

“Yurian,” Earmial interjected before the older mer could turn away.  “You understand that he’s in love with her, right?”

The expression that ghosted over Yurian face seemed, to Earmiel’s experienced eye, almost sad.  “Ondolemar always did have excellent instincts about people.”

“So you _have_ met her,” Earmiel pressed.

“I will do what I can about this,” Yurian told him, in a tone of indisputable finality, before turning and walking back in the direction from which he had come.

Earmiel watched him go with a slight frown.  Yurian’s responses to both the execution order and to Ondolemar’s relationship with the dragonborn were unexpected.  He wasn’t sure what to make of either.

“Well, that was interesting,” a deep, slightly resonant, voice commented from behind Earmiel.

Earmiel turned to find a dremora, in daedric armor, leaning against a tree.

“You know… if you’re plotting to overthrow the Dominion that’s more Boethiah’s thing than mine,” the dremora commented, his tone mild.

“I assumed protecting your wife would be your thing,” Earmiel replied, a little shakily.  For all the time he’d spent in the Realms of Revelry over the years he’d never, to his knowledge, met their ruler before.

“It is,” Sanguine acknowledged.  Then his eyes narrowed.  “It _has_ been a while since you last visited one of my realms.”

“Keeping up with your wife doesn’t leave a lot of time for much else.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“You, ah, know about Ondolemar I take it?”

“I do.”

“And?”

“My wife is free to do as she pleases.  But, if he becomes a liability, he may find himself in Coldharbor… or someplace worse.”

Earmiel swallowed hard. “… Right.  I’ll, uh, be leaving then?”

The daedra nodded. “The same goes for you too, boy.”

“I understand,” Earmiel croaked around a very dry throat.

“Good.  Now get going,” the daedra ordered.  There was a spiral of purple fire and Earmiel found himself back in the cellar of his home in Morthal. He managed fully three steps towards the stairs before his knees gave out and he collapsed, heavily, onto the cold floor, shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 I believe the “sundered” in this actually indicates the presence of the Time Wound that renders the peak of Snow Throat slightly out of phase with the rest of Tamriel. The jill should get on that the moment it's not needed anymore.
> 
> 2 Further explanation coming in a later chapter.
> 
> 3 During the quest “Diplomatic Immunity”, if the dragonborn is an Altmer, wearing hooded Thalmor Robes allows you to walk past all the Thalmor guards without them turning hostile.
> 
> 4 This guy has servants who dress him.
> 
>  
> 
>  ****Author’s Note**  
>  And now a word from my “writing supervisor” on the status of the next chapter: [link](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48467812996_6f1e01a08b_o.jpg).


	23. Hogithum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who was that masked man?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years everyone!
> 
> 21st of First Seed, 4E 202

On Azura’s summoning day, for the first time in more years than he cared to consider, Teldryn Sero had decided to pay his observances.  His room, in the Dragonborn’s home on Solstheim, might not have been the most sacred of locations but, with the Dragonborn still away, it afforded him the level of privacy he preferred.

“It has been some time, my champion,” Azura, acknowledged him, her voice filling his mind.

“You told me I was free,” he stated, his tone a little more accusing than he’d intended.

“You _are_ free,” she replied mildly.  “Your prophecy is complete.  Your life has been your own for more than two centuries.”

“The Dragonborn has your blessing as well, does she not?” he countered.

“I guard over the threads of her fate1,” the daedra acknowledged.  “It is only right as the outcome of her final encounter with the World-Eater will determine whether the Twilight of this kalpa has truly begun.”

Teldryn grimaced slightly.  “I had assumed my otherwise inexplicable2 decision to come to Raven Rock was due to the appearance of Sleepers3 on the island.  Now I wonder if you knew the Dragonborn’s fate would bring her to Solstheim and so put me in her path.”

“Your soul has always been drawn to those with a destiny,” the daedra pointed out.

“That was often _your_ doing,” he reminded her.

“Perhaps… But the choice to approach the Dragonborn, and to remain beside her, continue to be yours.”

“And her resemblance to Almalexia… simple co-incidence?” he demanded.

Azura was silent for a moment.  “Almalexia’s ascendant nature was, indeed, proof such a being could exist within the logic of the Convention.”

“You are saying that Almalexia was the _anticipation_ of the Last Dragonborn?”

The daedra gave a delicate snort.  “The Dunmer concept of ‘anticipations’ was always a ruse to justify replacing the worship of the daedra with that of the Tribunal.  Only your people’s combined belief in it gave it relevance.  No.  Almalexia was proof that the position – the need – for such a being existed within the Aurbis.  A niche that could be filled, properly, when the time came.”

Teldryn considered that for a moment.  “If the position existed why didn’t Almalexia reach full apotheosis?  Why did she continue to need the Heart to maintain her godhood?”

“Intentions matter.  The motivations of the Snake-Faced queen, her care and concern for her people, were selfish in nature – which she proved when she chose personal power over Nerevar’s life or what might happen to her people as a result,” the daedra told him.  “The position she claimed should never have been held by one whose true concern was for themself rather than the world.4  Only Lorkhan’s power could have bent creation enough for her to pretend to be what she was not.”

Teldryn gritted his teeth against an instinctive urge to defend the long dead god-queen of Morrowind.  “The Dragonborn has been gone longer than she planned,” he remarked, after a moment, changing the subject slightly. 

“Events at the College of Winterhold have delayed her,” Azura told him.  “But she already makes her way back.”  The daedra paused infinitesimally.  “It will be some time yet before her prophecy is fulfilled.”

Meaning the breakneck pace of events surrounding Alexa would continue.  “I had forgotten how exhausting the life of a hero is,” Teldryn sighed heavily in grudging acceptance.  “Is she immortal now, as she fears?” he asked.

“She has become like you, though by different means,” the daedra replied.

“I see.  I believe I will continue to choose to watch her back… at least until her prophecy is fulfilled.”

“Then I shall continue to watch over you both, from the Twilight,” Azura replied, ending their conversation.

Teldryn stood, stretched, and grimaced slightly in discomfort.  One positive thing could be said for the situation the Dragonborn currently found herself in, she’d stopped ageing somewhat earlier in life than he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Upon completing “The Black Star” quest Azura tells the Dragonborn: “Farewell, mortal. Know that Azura will be guarding over the threads of your fate in the Twilight.”
> 
> 2 “I don't know why I decided to make my way to Solstheim to seek my fortune. I should have stayed home.” - Teldryn Sero
> 
> 3 Reference to TES III: Morrowind, in which “Sleepers” are Dunmer who have fallen under control of Dagoth Ur.
> 
> 4 As with a fair number of nouns in TES, Almalexia’s name was probably constructed as a portmanteau of two RW words the combination of which, I believe, were meant to indicate something about her character.  It’s component parts are:  
>  **Alma** has several possible meanings:
> 
>   1. Spanish: “the soul”,
>   2. Hebrew: “young woman”,
>   3. Latin: “nourishing”
> 

> 
> **Alexia** – from Greek: _alexo_ “to defend, to help”.
> 
> Durillis the Theologian (The Living Gods, ESO) says that “Almalexia… is the patron of healers and teachers.  She is… the source of compassion and sympathy, the protector of the poor and the weak.”  He described Almalexia’s place in society as encompassing not just one of the possible meanings of her name but _all_ of them.    
> However, what we learned about her in TES III: Tribunal, indicates her place in society was not a reflection of the true personality but a pretense she maintained as long as her divinity was secure.  Once she lost access to the Heart, however, her true self – the person who chose to betray her husband, and her people, for personal power - became apparent. 
> 
>  
> 
>  **** Author’s Note**  
>  I ran into this theory on a lore thread about a year ago. While I do not believe Bethesda would ever put a canonical face on a previous player character, there is nothing I could find in any of the extended cannon, or lore, that directly disproves the theory. I also kind of love everything about it.  
> So, as Not Drake, but Jill is, at its core, an exploration of Elder Scrolls lore, and this theory presents the opportunity to branch out of Skyrim a bit and and into Morrowind, I’ve decided to run with it. Lets see where it takes us!


	24. The Book of the Dragonborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earmiel reads Alexa’s thoughts on what it means to be dragonborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore/theory heavy chapter.
> 
> Early Spring, 4E 202

The book had been pulled apart and re-bound to add space for copious notes in addition to the notes he could see in the margins.  Not having read the book before Earmiel began with the text and Alexa’s marginal notes.

  


Earmiel smirked at that.  Alexa was an intellectual snob, even if she hid it rather well… most of the time.

Earmiel smirked again and flipped to Alexa’s appended notes.

  
  


Earmiel paused for a moment at this.  Effect on time?  He made a quick note to take a deeper look at this claim...  Though, given the statement’s rather nebulous nature, he might have to find a way to get Alexa to clarify it for him before he’d be able to give it any real thought.  Could he just ask her, he wondered?  It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing that would be easily slipped into conversation.  And she’d definitely notice if he went fishing for it… he gave a slightly agitated sigh and went back to reading.

  


Earmiel smirked at that.  If the Amulet of Kings had been capable of being bound, simultaneously, to more than one person it would almost certainly have lead to a _much_ more interesting history of civil war within the Empire.

Well, that would certainly go a long way towards explaining the eclectic collection of artifacts currently residing in a pocket plane in Labyrinthian, Earmiel noted to himself as he turned to the next page.  Though it didn’t explain why Alexa had been looking for any of those things in the first place.

He frowned to himself as something occurred to him.  Alexa must trust Dolly quite a bit to be willing to hand over a document, to a Thalmor Emissary, in which she admitted to such an easily exploitable ability.  He was quite certain that, in her place, he would not have done so.

  


Earmiel leaned back in his chair.  Was it possible the dragonborn was right, that someone was actively working to alter the vary fabric of creation?  Several events over the past few centuries, he decided after some thought, _might_ be seen in that light.  What, after all, had the Void Nights been if not an attempt to remove what little remained of Lorkhan from the world?  It was, he decided, a theory that warranted further consideration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 "Alessia didn't have the power to absorb dragon souls. Hers was a much more nuanced power: to dream of liberty and give it a name and on her deathbed make Covenant with the Aka-Tusk." (Bethsoft.com, Michael Kirkbride, Nov 5th 2012, [link](http://forums.bethsoft.com/topic/1421186-/page-2?&&p=21748685#entry21748685))
> 
> 2 “[Akatosh] gathered the tangled skeins of Oblivion, and knit them fast with the bloody sinews of his Heart, and gave them to Alessia… Akatosh drew from his breast a burning handful of his Heart's blood, and he gave it into Alessia's hand…” (Trials of St. Alessia)
> 
> 3 Sancre Tor: lit. sacred mountain. Lets not try to innumerate the number of RW gods born in/from caves on sacred mountains.
> 
> 4 It is possible, in my mind, that King Hrol was, himself, a wandering Ehlnofey as he is said to have been from "the lands beyond lost Twil[ight]" and that, at Sancre Tor, he mated with an Ehlonfey who had become "earthbone". Which would go a long way towards explaining Reman’s title "Worldly God" (since he was literally born of, and _from_ , the world by "gods" who had become the world) as well as Michael Kirkbride's two comments on Reman ([link](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/forum-archives-michael-kirkbride)).  Still, even if Reman were the child of two Ehlonfey, he would not have been dragon-blooded.
> 
> 5 Or became earth-bone himself.
> 
> 6 Varieties of Faith in the Empire
> 
> 7 “There is no question. You are doom-driven. Kogaan Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal.” (Paarthurnax, during “Alduin’s Bane”)


End file.
